Whims of Fate
by Authoressinhiding
Summary: Complete  Fate had never been truly kind to Candorien. Now she has the power to make fate do as she wishes. But in doing so does she still walk a path chosen for her? PotCLotRPotO Crossover. Threquel to Not My Perfect Day and Why Me?
1. Carson

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but orginal characters and ideas.**

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Silence reigned the darkened room. All was quiet save for the slow, rhythmic breathing of the form sprawled across the full bed in a corner. Piles of books littered the dark concrete floor; the two bookcases stood empty as if the possessor of all the scattered novels had been in the middle of some grand sorting job. A saxophone sat in its case beside a collapsed music stand. Posters and photographs lined the walls, and horses were _everywhere_. A soft green light flickered on the silver laptop perched carefully on an oaken desk. Beneath the lone window sat an ornately carved wooden chest, dark and shining with antiquity.

"An' I ain't goin' home solo, 'cuz I lean like a cholo! Side to side. Elbows up, up, side to side."

The slumped figure in the bed woke with a startled jerk and promptly fell, still wrapped in blankets, onto the hard floor. It struggled to its feet, snatched the ringing phone, and flipped it open.

"'Ello?" it said in a groggy voice, extricating itself from the mass of blankets.

"Good morning, Carson, m'dear," crowed the voice on the other end of the line. "Ready for band?"

"It's not that time. I've got an hour and a half."

"Carson," the voice on the phone laughed, "stop fooling around. I'll be at your house in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes!" C arson shrieked. "Bye!"

Carson snapped on her bedside lamp and threw the blankets on the bed. Panic was evident in her dark sea-grey eyes. The girl dashed about the room, pulling a pair of jeans on and yanking a black top over her head. She sped into the bathroom and emerged five minutes later, dirty blond mane straightened, teeth brushed, all lint safely removed. A series of quick movements later, phone and wallet were in her pockets, the saxophone case was in her hand, and a beat-up black backpack was slung over one shoulder. Carson snatched a book from one of the stacks at random and headed for her front door.

"Carson, darling, where are you off to?"

The teenager winced and set down bag and sax. Her mother, a well-dressed woman with perfect makeup even at six-thirty in the morning, stood in the doorway of the living room, gazing unhappily at her youngest daughter.

"Band," she replied nervously, bending down to tie her worn-out running shoes.

"This early?"

"We have a jazz contest today."

"Where's your uniform?"

"At the band room."

"Do I need to drive you in?"

"I've got a ride."

"What time will you be back?"

"Five-thirty or so."

"Hmmm."

Suddenly Carson's phone rang again. She glanced at the caller ID and picked up her things. "Gotta dash, Mom. Love you! Bye." Before her mother could reply, she was out the door and along the gravel drive to where her friend awaited in his beat up maroon car.

"Morning!" she said too cheerfully, tossing her things into the back seat and clambering in.

The driver did not reply, just backed out the long driveway. Only when they were safely on the highway did he speak. "You look good for ten minutes, Car. But what's wrong?"

"Mom intercepted me on my way out."

"Ah."

Carson swiveled her head to give her friend a strange look.

Darren King was much more put together than she. His dark hair was gelled into casual spiky disarray. He had come prepared against the cold morning air, wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt and tight jeans. Dark brown eyes met her own grey ones with a raised eyebrow.

"There's an extra hoodie in the back," he observed, turning back to watch the road.

Carson promptly reached behind her to snatch it. She pulled it over her Josh Groban t-shirt and leaned back in the seat, thinking.

Darren was seventeen to her sixteen, fencing team co captain, and head drum major of the marching band. He worked at the local video rental place and had quite a knack for dancing. Better still, he was a gifted listener. In all honesty, Darren _was_ the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome. Carson could think of a score of girls who would date him without straining herself.

_If so many people like him,_ she thought with a deal of bitterness, _then why is Mom so set on _not_ liking him?_

It was a common-known fact that Carson's mother disapproved of Darren. Whenever his name came up, she sniffed loudly. She disliked her daughter's associating with him and said so frequently. As a consequence, Carson never mentioned she was hanging out with him.

"You look bushed, Car," Darren commented in a quiet tone. "How much sleep did you get last night? It obviously wasn't enough."

Carson shrugged. It would do no good to say she and her mother had argued again the night previous or that she had spent half the night perched atop her gelding and gazing at the stars.

"Ten minutes till we get to the school," the young man continued. "You could sleep for a tiny bit."

Carson nodded wordlessly and closed her eyes. As Darren sang along softly to the radio, she slipped off to the familiar noise.

Darren watched the sleeping girl next to him through carefully narrowed eyes. "Carson Eileen McArthur, what am I going to do with you?" he murmured, taking one hand off the wheel to brush the hair from her eyes. "Abby and Jamie are so worried about you. 'She never sleeps', 'it's as thought she isn't fully here', 'I can't remember the last time she was happy'. What is going on? They aren't the girls to jump at shadows. But you probably wouldn't tell me even if you could, would you?" The handsome young man sighed.

Sooner than he would have liked, Darren pulled into his accustomed parking spot. He reached over to rouse his friend gently. She sat up, bleary-eyed, and slowly got out of the car. Frowning slightly, the seventeen-year-old watched as she trudged to the band room and disappeared inside.

By the time Darren entered the band room, Bronwen and Jamie had descended upon Carson. They were busy fixing her hair, inquiring about her evening, and attempting to wake her up completely. Satisfied she was in good hands, he strode across the spit-encrusted carpet to converse with his other friends.

One jazz festival, trigonometry class, and fencing practice later, Carson stumbled back into Darren's car. She slept through the drive home, arms wrapped around herself in a protective hug. The music that day had been nearly flawless, trig was fine, and only Darren had beaten her in that day's practice bouts. Still, the moment Garrett Anderson, their grizzled old British coach, let them go, her smile began to fade, the light in her eyes to dim. The girl woke the moment the smooth asphalt beneath the car's tires changed to crunchy gravel.

"'Bye," she mumbled, gathering her horn and bag and opening the car door.

"Hey, Car, I'm heading over to the Blaze," he named a club for teens in the closest city, "in a couple of hours, but if you need to get a hold of me I should answer my phone, okay?" His dark eyes flickered upwards to meet hers. "Don't hesitate to call."

She nodded. "Have fun."

The young man grinned wolfishly. "Oh, I will."

With a faint laugh, she waved and walked inside the house.

A two-hour nap later, Carson woke and set to work. She reorganized and filed the contents of her library to the music of various legendaries such as the Beatles, Rihanna, and Hawk Nelson. While waiting for the finicky Internet connection on her laptop to work, Carson persuaded her mother to order a pizza. Mrs. McArthur acquiesced – on one condition. First Carson must arrange social plans for the next day. A few phone calls later, a movie date with Bronwen, Abby, and Jamie was decided upon, and Carson eagerly awaited her warm cheese pizza. To pass the time, she logged onto Messenger and sent random messages asking if people liked pineapples or had ever eaten a Dirigible plum.

Out of the blue, strains of rich, joyful carnival music met her ears. Jumping up to search for the source of the startling noise, Carson saw a brilliant white light emanating from her open closet. Drawn by some unknown power, she walked haltingly towards the light and music until she stood but six inches from the shining radiance. Slowly, the girl stretched forth a hand to touch it. The instant her fingertips reached the light, she was falling, falling, falling through a tunnel of light and music.

Carson hit something extremely hard with a very loud noise.

_Ow,_ she thought in annoyance. Splinters were embedded in her elbows and forearms. A monster migraine was definitely on its way. _Ow. That's going to hurt in the morning._

"Oh, my G-d!"

"Heavens above, what just happened?"

"Who be this stowaway on my ship?"

"Is she all right?"

"Move out of the way. Let me through. Move over!"

Someone, probably the owner of the last voice, Carson thought, lifted her gently from the hard splintery wood. They carried her in an odd, swaying fashion and sat her carefully down on what felt like an upturned barrel.

"You're all right now," continued the voice of the person who had carried her. Something stirred inside Carson; a name fought to make its way to the surface, along with the image of a tan young man. Her brain was still too fuzzy to completely function, however, and so it was unable to get through. "You can open your eyes," it said, not unkindly. Its hands were clasped firmly on her shoulders. "Come on now."

Carson blinked slowly and heavily. A handful of gawking faces swam into view: two grizzled older men, filthy and reeking; a young woman only a few years older than herself, dressed in russet brown and wearing a tricorn; and the owner of the voice, a tall man browned by the sun with quick, dancing eyes and wavy dark hair. He regarded her curiously, a slight frown upon his lips.

"Are you all right?" the young woman asked, looking at Carson with concern. "That was a nasty fall."

"She fell out o' the sky!" barked one of the older men. His blond hair was frazzled and scraggly, and he peered nervously out at her with a wooden eye.

_I know him, but not at the moment, _the girl thought in annoyance. _Who are these people?_

"Are you all right?" the young woman reiterated.

"Palelilu…. Parsnip, parsley, partner, partner… Rum? Cheese, moo, Wrackspurt…. Who are you? And where am I?"

The other strange man, nearly bald and in possession of several gold teeth, opened his mouth to speak, but the tan handsome one held up a hand to silence him.

"Miss," he began awkwardly, "are you all right? Did you hit your head too hard?"

"Will, don't be ridiculous! She fell over fifty feet. Of course she's not all right."

_Did I really? That can't be good._

"I'm fine," the girl said shakily. "Perfectly fine." With a jaunty smile, she hopped off the barrel and attempted to "case the joint" as it were. She staggered woozily and collapsed onto the deck, sitting and looking about the ship.

It was a trim vessel, a schooner, Carson believed, bedecked fore and aft with billowing white sails. Twelve cannons lined the rails on each side of the ship, and that was only the top deck. Aft she beheld the poop deck, where a ragged sailor with bloodshot eyes stood at the helm. The schooner rose and fell with the waves, splashing her face for the first time with the wild, salty spray of the sea. Still sitting, the young woman turned her face into the wind and inhaled deeply. A sense of adventure leapt within her, a feeling of having every sense sharpened and every action strengthened.

Slowly Carson picked herself back up in order to look more closely at the strange people she found herself with. She found she knew their names now; they came to her as easily as her own. Raggetti was the blond, Pintel the baldy, Elizabeth the fierce young woman with anxious care in her troubled eyes. As for the tan brown-eye-ed man, she could not believe she had forgotten him even for an instant. William Turner. The name filled her with joy and pain, excitement and a horrid foreboding. Concern in his eyes, Will reached out a hand to steady her.

"Candy, darling! I wondered when you'd show up!"

Carson whirled to see a beautiful girl emerging from the captain's cabin. Her emerald eyes flashed oddly in her perfect face framed by auburn hair. Carson's eyes rolled up into her head, and she promptly fainted dead away into Will Turner's arms.

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**A/N: Thus begins the third installment in my Candorien trilogy. I advise reading the other two "Not My Perfect Day" and "Why Me?" before this one. This story is going to move fairly quickly with plenty of twists... just the way I like it. Readers, ye be warned.**

**Authoressinhiding **


	2. Seasick

**TheBlahFactor – Excellent thought, and I have moved it to X-Overs. Just didn't know how to find the button!**

**Albert – I do not answer questions. You must find the answers yourself.**

**Dragon'sBlade – Violence is not the answer – to everything.**

**Ames – A little AWE, perhaps. Just perhaps. And flutes are NOWHERE near as bad as brass. But when your piccolo drips on your leg you know "Houston, we have a problem."**

**Disclaimer: I give all credit to canon to franchises. That said, I proceed to wreak havoc with their material.

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"Is she awake yet?"

"Shh! You'll disturb her. We probably ought to get that friend of the captain's to look at her. It's a lucky thing you caught her, Will. We don't need a concussion of all things on board this ship."

_Thicker than a concussed troll, _Carson thought. _That's me, all right._

"Llama," she moaned and attempted to sit up. Instead of succeeding, somehow the girl flipped through the air and landed on the floor. "Ow."

Elizabeth pressed her lips together firmly to keep from laughing. Her fiancée raised an eyebrow.

"What the… oh." Carson had successfully managed to fall out of a hammock. No real surprise there. She stared at the tan canvas, still slightly swinging, and fought back a surge of nausea. This whole rolling-motion-of-the-open-sea thing was really not getting along with her stomach.

"Can I get a hand?" the girl asked but then pushed herself up regardless. She clung to a post extending from the floor to the ceiling.

"Now don't take offense, miss, but who are you?"

As her gaze moved quickly from Will to Elizabeth, Carson noticed he had an arm around her waist. Romantic couples… they were all the same, come down to it. Suddenly she understood all her friends' complaints about being surrounded by couples at school.

"The moniker's Carson Eileen McArthur. Yes, I know it's a male's name. No, my father did not choose it. My mother has very odd taste in names. Of course I sometimes wish it was different." The girl shrugged and sighed. "But what can you do?"

"I feel awful for you. At least my parents had the sense to stick with Elizabeth Swann," laughed the other young woman. "Will has _his_ father's name. I suppose some mothers oughtn't be allowed to name children."

"Got that right," Carson grumbled. "So now you know who I am, you have to answer a question for me. Where in all of Aman am I?"

The two love-birds exchanged long, meaningful looks. In the time it took them to break eye-contact, Carson tapped two cadences on the post, fighting the urge to do sprinklers, chain saws, and disco moves all the while. Marching band does strange things to the psyche.

"On board the _Seahawk_, bound for Singapore," Will informed her, his dark brown eyes dangerous.

"You seem rather confident revealing this to me. How do you know I shan't turn on you?"

It was the man's turn to laugh now, and he did. The cold look in his eyes made Carson shiver. This was a dangerous, desperate man. Should she stand in his way, Carson knew he would have no qualms removing her from the equation all together.

"Where have you to go?" he asked bitterly. 'Who can you tell? And if you become a problem, one child is easily dealt with."

There was no point in informing him that Carson was sixteen and hardly a child or that she could cause a deal of trouble disproportionate to her size. Even though she had only known the man for less than ten minutes, the sixteen-year-old could tell he was in a mood. It was as plain as the nose on an Oliphaunt's face.

"What… interesting attire you have." Elizabeth finally broke the awkward silence.

Carson gave her cloths an unnecessary glance. She was wearing a pair of holey flared jeans, a snug black Josh Groban top with the lyrics to "February Song" on the back, and a pair of plaid Converse. Cute for 2008, not so normal 300-odd years previous. A faint blush crept up her cheeks and the back of her neck.

"I like it," Will commented, running his eyes up and down her figure. Carson's blush intensified. "It's definitely different, but I like it."

Elizabeth sniffed. "Still, it would be best if she dressed more like the rest of us."

Carson frowned. She did not want to look like the rest of them. Besides, her jeans were broken in and extremely comfortable. It was hot enough as it were without adding extra layers of clothing. She raised her arms above her head and arched her back, stretching. "I suppose," she said at last in a lazy tone.

"Here." Elizabeth held out a stack of clothing. Will took this as his cue for departure. Once he had left, Carson stripped systematically and pulled on the canvas trousers, crisp white linen shirt, calf-high brown leather boots, tight brown vest, and beat-up bandolier. Her jeans and T-shirt she folded neatly and placed inside a dark sea chest on top of her Converse. Her hair she pulled up and away from her tan face.

"I hate these trousers," the young woman muttered, glaring down at their unflattering fit. "Don't you have anything more… tailored?"

"It isn't my fault you are no one else's size. You are shorter than I am, and you have larger hips, besides."

"So I'm squat, eh?" Why could no one ever say exactly what they meant without dancing around the point? Of all the people Carson knew, Darren and Bronwen alone told her unpleasant truths.

The female pirate flushed uncomfortably. "No, of course not. If you are desperate for better clothes, go visit the captain's woman. She has enough clothes for a multitude."

"Who is she, that woman?" Something in the back of her mind said she ought to know, but she didn't. It was extremely irritating. "The one who spoke to me earlier."

"Her name is Mary Elizabeth something or other. She has an air of perfection. I'm sure you noticed it."

"One of those, eh?" The sense of premonition increased.

"Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow. That's it! She's gorgeous, of course, but still…"

"Her beauty is a weapon." Glancing around the cabin, she noticed it was divided into four sections, each one containing a hammock and sea chest. Three were rather sparse and severe, including the one Carson apparently now possessed. The fourth, however, was draped in pink silk. Carson felt nauseous.

"Aye," Elizabeth nodded. "That's _hers_."

"So… what are you going to do with me?"

The older woman's eyes gleamed. "I am going to further your education."

_Uh. Oh._

Uh oh was right. Five hours later, they had been all over the ship. Carson could now furl a sail in her sleep. She had nearly gone deaf helping to fire the cannons, been a victim of the "cook", and almost spewed her insides out upon viewing the head. The two young women had found Carson a dark blue cotton sash to help keep the unfortunate canvas trousers on their owner's behind.

Carson leaned into the wind and smiled, though she did miss her jeans. Elizabeth stood beside her, looking her new shipmate over. Carson would do well, she thought. The girl had displayed a lively sense of curiosity throughout her tour of the ship and quite the willingness to learn and work. Besides, she could make Elizabeth laugh – a talent in and of itself well worth notice.

"How old are you?" she asked at random.

"Sixteen," Carson replied easily, bouncing her heels up and down.

"Young to be involved in such great business," Elizabeth mused.

"Meh." The younger girl shrugged. She had been in and out of great business since she was thirteen and found herself in the Ettenmoors.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmmm? Oh, calf-raises."

"What?"

Carson demonstrated. "Calf. Raises."

"Oh." Elizabeth looked her new friend up and down. There, where she had overlooked them before, were the signs of discipline and physical training: calluses on her hands, muscles subtly peeking through the skin on her arms, the sense that in a moment she could be fighting for her life or racing away. For all her excitement and youth, Carson did not waste energy when she moved. "Can you fight?"

"What? Oh, yeah." Carson looked very pleased with herself. "Yes, I can. Why? Do you desire to duel me?"

"I don't." Elizabeth spun on her heel and yelled for Will. "He does."

He came up to them, a hang-dog look in his eyes that brightened when Elizabeth smiled at him. "Yes?"

"The girl says she can fight."

"Can she?" The pirate sounded amused. "We shall see." In one swift movement he drew his fiancée's sword from the sheath at her hip and tossed it to Carson. Her body automatically caught the blade and moved to the guard position. Laughing openly now, Will drew his own weapon.

"Well, little lady," he teased, "let's see what you've got."

The man came after her, chuckling. Obviously he did not consider her trouble. Bad move. After two years with the toughest fencing coach in the Midwest and one of the trickiest, canniest partners _ever_, Carson knew how to fence, and she knew it well. He began with simple passes, severely underestimating her ability. The girl flicked his blade away. She guarded, parried, and dodged, always on the defensive.

"Never attack first," Mr. Anderson, her fencing coach, had drilled into her. "When you attack, you set yourself up for failure. Let your opponent be stupid. You don't have weight to be throwing around in a fight. You have to think, McArthur!" Here he always gave her an ungentle love tap to some already tender area. "Think! King, show her again."

Now Carson remembered his words and obeyed them. She tantalized Will, never going directly after him. Slowly they upped the ante. Finally the man had enough. He threw all he had into the duel, and Carson switched styles. Aggressiveness became her forte. The girl met him head on, moving fast and playing dirty. She tripped, punched, kicked, and hit, darting and weaving. Of course, as she knew would ultimately happen, she made one mistake, and he knocked her to the deck.

"Surrender?" the pirate demanded, brushing a lock of sweaty hair from his eyes. He stood over her, cold steel pressing against her throat.

"Of course I accept." That had been quite a taxing match - like fighting Darren when he was on Red Bull. Carson felt the beginnings of a cramp in her left leg. Still, the duel had been good for her. It was quite challenging to fight Will Turner, and a _very_ good learning experience. Will stared pointedly down at her. "Oh, yes. I surrender. Could you maybe let me up now?"

He removed his sword and yanked her to her feet with a grunt. Carson handed Elizabeth her sword, stumbling slightly as she did so. "Well done for a child." She whirled to glare at him but tripped and fell to her knees instead.

"Will!" shrieked Elizabeth. "Fix her!"

Carson staggered to her feet and promptly vomited over the side of the ship. She attempted to turn around but fell over in the attempt.

"Will!"

Sighing, he lifted the sixteen-year-old into his arms and carried her below.

"You made yourself sick, girl," Will informed her, turning sideways so he could inch down the narrow passage. "Hen-witted thing to do."

Carson groaned softly. "Didn't do it on purpose."

"No one ever does," he said dismissively. "Are you sea-sick or actually hurt? Did I push you too hard?"

"Sea-sick," the girl grunted.

"Oh." The pirate kicked a door open and crab-walked into a small room with rows of bunks. The sick bay. He gently set her down on one about waist high and placed a wooden bucket on the floor near her head. "This will be better for nausea than a hammock." Noticing the girl's shivers, Will pulled a blanket from a nearby cabinet and spread it over her.

"Try to get some rest," he murmured, observing her struggle out of her vest, bandolier, and boots. It would be improper for him to help her unless asked. And Carson was too proud to ask. At last she removed them and collapsed back upon the bunk. "I'm sure Elizabeth had you moving all over the ship this afternoon. I'll check in on you later." He moved to the door and hesitated before turning back around. "You fought well today. I was impressed. Now go to slep."

Carson smiled as he left and, closing her eyes, obeyed orders.

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"Candy…. Candy darling… are you awake?"

She was now. That voice had been the cause of so much trouble in her life. And yet, without it she would never have become the person she now was. Annoyed that her rest had been disrupted, the teenager groaned softly. She knew her visitor would hear it.

"You look positively green, my dear!" the girl's visitor squealed. She was a vision of unwelcome loveliness in drawstring turquoise silk pants and sheer white linen shirt open nearly to her navel. Carson could clearly see what looked like a hot pink leopard print Victoria's Secret bra beneath. Her red hair tumbled down over her shoulders in loose curls. "You okay, Candy?"

"Rawr," Carson growled, reverting to teenager speak for a moment. "No, I am not. What have you done, and why am I here?"

The beautiful girl gazed down at Carson unconcernedly. "Candorien," she breathed. "You are here because of who you are, because of who you might be. I have been watching you."

Carson flinched. People watching her was not a good idea. Especially not when one of her best friends for the past two years had been Darren King. She thought fleetingly of Renaissance fairs with her fencing troupe, late night car rides, and intense jazz band practices.

"And?" She affected a haughty air, even though she was the one dressed in the most unflattering clothes _ever_ and lying prone on a bunk in a sick bay. "What do you think of me, Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow?"

MEKESSG favored her with an absent smile and brushed Carson's hair from her face. "I like you, Carson Eileen McArthur," she said simply. "You are smart, funny, and very, very pretty. Not as pretty as me, perhaps, but your looks have their own advantages. As we have already witnessed today…."

"What do you mean?"

"You made Will smile. And you nearly beat him. I must say I enjoyed that."

Carson grinned wolfishly.

"Would you like to duel me tomorrow?" asked MEKESSG. "I could teach you a good deal."

_I'm sure you could, _Carson thought. "Maybe," she said aloud. "If I'm better by tomorrow."

"You will be. Oh, yes, that reminds me. Here." MEKESSG pulled a package seemingly out of nowhere. She unwrapped it in front of Carson, who sat up curiously. "There you are." MEKESSG held the bundle's contents out. "Ta-da!"

Carson's eyes lit up. The other girl was displaying a pair of worn brown trousers. Nothing to be excited about, really. Somehow, though, the girl knew they would fit her perfectly. MEKESG probably knew Carson's size better than Carson did herself.

"They don't look much," the other girl explained, "but they'll look better than those hideous canvas things you've got on. Can you stand? Yes? Then change."

The sixteen-year-old clambered from her bunk and shimmied out of the canvas and into the cotton. The pants MEKESSG had brought did fit, and fabulously, too.

"I see I was right." MEKESSG clapped her hands and whirled around, sounding delighted. "No pudge on the stomach, I'm glad to see. I suppose all that messing around with your boyfriend helped." At Carson's quizzical look she went on, "All that wrestling and fencing you two do."

"Oh." It clicked. MEKESSG was talking about Darren and the sparring the two always did. "One, that isn't messing around. It's fighting. And two, he isn't my boyfriend."

"He could be," MEKESSG mused, sounding far too sweet.

"Unbloodylikely."

MEKESSG raised an eyebrow but did not comment further. Instead, she changed the subject. "What do you want to be, Candorien? When you grow up, I mean."

"I dunno. There are hundreds of things I'd like to be. I think I'll get a degree in music or English. Maybe work part-time as a stunt person for films. Maybe tour with a fencing company. I'd love to travel abroad."

"And a family?"

"If I meet the right guy, sure." Carson wrinkled her nose. "Though I have to admit I've not overfond of kids."

Then MEKESSG sprang an unexpected question on her. "If you could live forever, would you want to?"

Carson stared at her for a few moments, then looked away. It was a question straight out of the blue, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Suddenly MEKESSG spun on her heel and practically flew from the sick bay.

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**Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long to update. I mostly type up this in Comp Apps, and I ended up not having as much time as usual. My apologies, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**Authoressinhiding**


	3. Truth

**Slayer3 – Would you stop trying to murder my characters? **

**Celebrytie Aris Channas – Yes, m'dear, perhaps you should have been.**

**Ames – I hate all energy drinks impartially. You may borrow it. After all, I stole 'moo' and 'cheese'. Just remember it was mine originally.**

**Booknut – And reviews like yours, while not the reason I write fanfiction, are the icing on the proverbial cake.**

**PippinBaggins – I thank you.**

**Albert – I mean Computer Applications, covering Microsoft Word, Excel, and PowerPoint… that's all I know it as, anywho.**

**TheBlahFactor – You're obviously a new reader. I don't usually answer questions. It's all part of my "Authoressinhiding" persona and mystique. XP But don't stop asking. One of these days I may just answer you. Still, I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.**

**Em - No reincarnation. Sorry, it's not half so twisted as that. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the clothes on my back, the smile on my face, and the song in my heart.**

**Author's Note: Hope the chapter is satisfactory and your Christmases were full of cheer and love. Buckle up, ladies and gents! It's gonna be a bumpy ride!**

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The bemused sixteen-year-old sat perched on the edge of her bunk, kicking her heels and doing some hard thinking. Her nausea had lessened somewhat. Now, waiting for someone to come and say she was free to go, Carson pondered over MEKESSG's last question. _Would _she want to live forever?

_Of course not. Don't be silly, _snapped her Voice. _People aren't meant to live forever. If we were, we would. As we don't, we're not._

_Right, _Carson thought, stomach lurching as the ship rolled and pitched. _Still… people can… I mean, there are ways. The heart of a star, for one._

_Black magic,_sniffed the Voice.

_Only too true. Well, cursed Aztec gold. Fountain of Youth, Davy Jones' crocodile machine. There are ways, dear Voice. Even _I _know there are ways._

_But…_the Voice hesitated, then went on in a soft tone that Carson found herself forced to _really_ listen to, for once. _Does the end truly justify the means? Would any of these methods or practices truly make you happy? Killing someone to live forever, living a cursed life, dependent on some water… could you live like that, Carson? Could you be yourself while dependent on some fix to survive or with some dreadful deed on your conscience?_

_No, _she thought slowly. _You know me._

_Then put it aside. Why bother about immortality? Could it ever make us happy?  
_

_You know it couldn't. Not unless we had someone to share it with. And I get bored with people easy. Eternity's a long time. So, no, I don't think immortality is for me. I'm too mercurial. Not enough elf in me. Too much mortal. Too much… me._

_Then it's a good thing we aren't immortal._

_Aye. But why would she have asked that question? I mean… it is rather a strange thing to say, considering the circumstances._

_Aye…_

_Still… she said we made Will smile._

_That she did._

Carson smiled herself, unable not to. _Well, then, I wouldn't call the day wasted. A great workout, prolly got a bit of a tan, and William Turner smiled because of me. Mmm… Will._

Picturing his gorgeous brown eyes, the girl leaned against the wall of the ship and sighed. Moralizing aside, she was only human and couldn't help but be affected by him.

There came a light rap-tap-tap on the door. It creaked open slowly. Will Turner stepped into the room, his dark hair tucked behind his ears. "I see you're feeling better," he commented in that delightfully accented voice of his.

"A bit," Carson admitted. A sudden rush of nausea came over her. She sat down promptly and bit her lip, forcing the nausea away.

"Are you all right?" Ever a gentleman, the former blacksmith was at her side immediately. "May I ascertain whether or not you have a fever?"

"Stop talking. Just do something." Suddenly Carson was freezing. Her teeth chattered noisily. Somehow managing to appear both competent and respectful, Will carefully felt the girl's forehead.

"You're definitely warm." Carson knew that. Blood rushed to her face at his touch. "Bet under that blanket." He was locating another, thicker blanket from one of the cupboards. "Here." He dropped it over her kindly, then perched on the edge of the berth. Carson rolled onto her side so there would be more room for him.

"Thanks." She pulled the blankets up to her chin and shivered.

"What's your name?" he asked with a touch of awkwardness. "I wasn't paying attention earlier."

"Carson Eileen McArthur," the girl got out around her chattering teeth. "I know, I know, it's a guy's name…"

"It fits you," he murmured. "I'm not sure how, but it does."

Carson had always thought so, but some of her girlfriends still teased her about having the same first name as Nancy Drew's father. Not that she really blamed them. Had the circumstances been switched, she would have done the same.

"You look too young to be away from home," the pirate observed softly. Carson looked up to see him staring down at her with uncomfortable scrutiny. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," she answered evenly. Her shivering and chills had subsided, and now all she felt was exhausted. But who could sleep with Will Turner so near?

"Still a child then." He smiled slightly to show he meant no ill. "You fight quite well for a child."

"Thank you." For a moment the girl was back in the company of warriors of great renown, holding her own – or as much as she could – while they helped her to do the rest. She sat on a grey horse, riding swiftly along in the black before morning. An eagle shrieked in the sky far above her, and she jerked awake to see a slim figure standing outside a dwindling fire. Then suddenly she returned to the ship and Will Turner.

"Mind answering the riddle of how you fell from the sky?" he was asking.

The sixteen-year-old begged off, claiming she had no idea. This was not entirely true. Carson was beginning to develop theories, and some of them disturbed her immensely.

"The Captain told me to watch you until my turn up on deck."

Somehow Carson doubted this, but who was she to argue with him? After all she very much liked the situation as it were. "That was uncommonly kind of him," she fibbed. "I have just the thing in mind to pass the time. A game called Truth."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Proceed."

"The rules are very simple. One of the persons involved asks the other a question which they must answer honestly. Hence the name. Play continues with alternating persons asking the questions until one person does not answer. Then the other must answer two questions in a row. Savvy?"

"Sounds simple enough."

"Okay, then. You ask first."

"Who taught you the sword?"

Carson grinned. That was an easy question with a convoluted answer. "A man known as Strider began my training. A man called Garrett Anderson trained me last." Her eyes flashed as she thought of the many teachers that lay between the two. "All right, my turn. Um…" Valar, this was hard. Something she didn't know about him that wasn't too personal. "Favorite color," she improvised.

"Dark blue, like the sea." He had very good taste. "Let's see… do you live with your family?"

"Yes. Mother, father, two older sisters, and an older brother. Though in fact I'm the only one of us kids who lives at home. I am the spoiled baby. Quite proud of it, too, I might add. Okay, then… well… what about your family?"

"My father left us when I was still a boy. He left to sail, to be a pirate. Every once in a while we heard from him… he sent money or some exotic trinket or other from time to time, but…"

"But…" Carson prompted after a short silence.

Will sighed. "But it was never enough. He stopped sending things a few years after he left. I watched my mother die of a broken heart. She... just wasted away then. Nothing I did could hold her here. She died. I was nine. I spent the next few months working odd jobs, doing the best I could. Finally I bargained with a ship's captain for passage over. I was to be a cabin boy. One thing kept me going – the thought that I might find my father. Though part of me blamed him for my mother's death, I worshipped him still."

The man paused and ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair. Carson felt a sudden impulse to reach out and touch it, but somehow she restrained herself. There are things one simply does not do, and playing near-strangers' hair is one of them. At last Will took a deep breath and began again. "Our ship was attacked by pirates. Elizabeth was on the ship that picked me up. Her father helped me obtain an apprenticeship with a local blacksmith. Since then, I have met my father. I cannot say that I approve of all his choices, but I must try to better his situation. I am his son. And I promised," he added in a half-whisper to himself.

_So you are haunted even now, _Carson thought, watching him intently. _You'll never be at peace, will you? I wish… I wish that I could help you. But I can't. You wouldn't let me. _

"All right, Miss McArthur, your turn for a difficult question." The pirate leaned down over her until his face was inches from her own. Will studied Carson for a moment, his dark brown eyes locked with her stormy gray ones. At last he murmured, "What, I wonder, has happened to make those eyes of yours so sad?"

Carson blinked uncomfortably and turned her face to the wall. This was one question she seriously did not want to answer.

"Carson… are you admitting defeat?" Will asked quietly. "I told you about my family. Surely you can tell me about your eyes. Please."

Slowly she turned back to look at him. The man's face was kind and courteous, but his curiosity could not be hidden.

"Please," he reiterated.

"I gained and lost my heart's desire." Before he could press her further, Carson rushed on with her next question. "Why did you ask?"

"Because you always look as though you could cry at any moment. Except when you fight. Then you look desperate."

"Oh, thanks."

"I do not mean to offend you, but… your eyes far exceed you in age. Not only are they sad, you seem haunted. Why are you haunted?"

"That's a long story," Carson replied. "Part of it – no most of it – is due to previous events. I rode to war once."

"Against the Indians?"

"No… someday I'll tell you the whole story. For now, I was in a battle and saw my friends die. Well, not my particular friends, but men I knew." She thought of Theoden, Halbarad, and MEKESSG.

"That explains it."

"I thought it might. So… what do I do to look happy?"

Will laughed and straightened up. "Smile. Try not to look so moody all the time."

"You've only known me for a day."

"True, and you look moody."

Carson glared. "So do you."

"I do not!"

"Yes, Master Turner, you do. There is a storm brewing in your eyes. Anger and fear and desperation. You are a man on the edge. At any moment you could collapse or explode or just dive off the side of the ship. I am afraid for you. I fear what you will do, if fate is not kind to you."

Silence fell. The girl struggled out of the blankets and pulled her boots, vest, and bandolier on. She ought not have said those things, shouldn't have let her heart speak uncensored. But it was too late. Words spoken could never be unspoken. Somewhat mortified, the sixteen-year-old jerked her vest straight and turned to leave the sick bay. Her nausea had vanished.

"Carson, wait."

She looked back. Will sat on the bunk, a tortured look on his face.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah. Sorry, mate, but it is." The girl opened the door and stepped out into the hall. "Good-bye, Will Turner," she murmured and left.

Carson climbed quickly up to the deck. The cool night wind mussed her hair. Oh, how she wanted to run! To get away from scheming beauties, lovers with conflicting emotions, and stinking pirates. Fleetingly the girl thought of laps in band, begging her body for just a little more speed, a little more endurance. Over the last two years, she had gotten in shape. Carson ran when she was upset or angry. She plugged in to her iPod and ran the perimeter of the pasture behind her house. Legs churning, gasping for more air, some days she found release from her troubles in the pain of exercise. Now, with no iPod (it lay abandoned in her fencing bag beside her bed) and no hillocky pastures, Carson twitched in impatience. She longed to fly, hair blown back by the breeze, but there was nowhere to run to.

_I could run the perimeter of the ship, _she thought, eying the narrow ladder up to the poop deck and the lashed cannons carefully.

"What ye doin', poppet?" a sly voice wondered.

The girl's eyes narrowed at Pintel's question. It would not do to run with so many pirates about. She sighed and hoped they would make port soon. Less than one day and already she was tired of life at sea. Though perhaps that had more to do with the present situation and company than ships and sailing.

"Thinking," she replied evenly. Spinning on her heel, Carson smiled down at Pintel (she was only a few inches taller). "Good evening." She strode off to the girls' cabin, very much wishing she were home.


	4. A Touch of Destiny

**Em – Oh, nothing happened beyond what was in the other two stories. I just like writing things mysteriously.**

**Aura – Thanks. This story is going to be rather different from the others. I feel like I've majorly matured since I first started writing about Candorien. Hopefully this story will show that. **

**Ames – Just as sixteen-year-olds feel immortalized and all grown-up, so do twenty-year-olds. Only more so. Glad you enjoyed it. Me shall try to update soon.**

**Celebrytie Aris Channas – Sad is a very good thing sometimes**

**Albert – The class that comes after this one does. So I'll be doing Access next trimester.**

**Disclaimer: I own so many things the imagination cannot number them all. Unfortunately, I don't own Pirates.**

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Dusky blue darkness. The faint chiming of a bell. Feet scurrying hither and thither. Voices speaking in low tones. A soft swish-swish of silken cloth. Carson listened to the daily business of the ship with her eyes closed. This was a vessel's heartbeat, she thought. The movements and rhythms that ran the ship, that made it live.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" exclaimed a dulcet voice.

With a quick pout, the teenage girl rolled out of the hammock. It was easier that way, falling on purpose with _some_ sense of grace rather than struggling to sit up and tumbling down with an 'oof' for her troubles. She leapt to her feet, extremely conscious of the flyaway state of her hair and rumpled condition of her clothing.

"Candy, Candy, Candy," MEKESSG sighed. "This simply will not do. You _must_ develop the type of beauty that exists every moment of your life – waking or sleep, dancing or fighting. Even that harridan Elizabeth has it. Now come with me."

Given no choice in the matter, Carson could but follow along as she was dragged from the cabin and up the deck to the captain's chambers.

"I have begun to move my things up here," the beautiful young woman explained, pulling Carson into the cabin and shutting the door quite forcefully. "There's much more room, and Hector's _so_ obliging." She ignored the other girl's uncomfortable blush and began to busy herself digging about in one of the elaborately decorated chests.

MEKESSG withdrew dresses, coats, blouses, trousers, and shoes in a most hasty manner. Carson dodged the flying articles of clothing as best she was able. Once a diamond-buckled gold heel caught her square on the right cheekbone. A few moments later, a heavy maroon woolen riding costume slammed into her stomach and knocked the girl down. Carson contented herself at that point with cowering under the riding costume, wincing as more clothes whooshed over her prostrate body. Finally silence came, and the sixteen-year-old judged it safe to crawl out from beneath the heavy wool.

"Sorry about that," MEKESSG said in a rather uncaring voice. "Stand up now. We have much to do this day."

Carson got to her feet, blinking in amazement at the amount of clothes that now littered the cabin. "Wow," she murmured softly and picked her way across the floor to MEKESSG with care.

"Try this on, my dear," MEKESSG said in a rather uncaring voice. "Stand up now. We have much to do this day."

Carson gazed in amazement at the garment held in MEKESSG's arms. "What is that?"

"A dress."

"It looks like…" The girl wisely chose not to finish their statement. In all sincerity, the dress resembled nothing so much as the iridescent skin of a rather small fish, ranging from the deepest of violets to the lightest of greens. A rather pretty color scheme, but not one that Carson much loved on herself. Especially not when the garment concerned seemed hardly the length of her femur.

"Put it on," MEKESSG growled.

"Um… no. It would not suit me, I fear." Politeness was a mere front. Beneath her smiling exterior, Carson stood firm in her determination _not_ to try on the fish's skin. "Now _this_ I could wear." The girl pulled from the heap of clothing a dark teal sash. "Yes… I do love that color."

Frowning prettily, MEKESSG broke in, "That is a sword-sash."

"Come again?"

MEKESSG sighed. "A bandolier. Here." She was at Carson's side in a moment, intertwining the blue-green material with the plain brown leather of the girl's original baldric. The lovely girl bent over another chest for a moment and stood, a brown sheath with the same color teal inlaid over the leather in diamonds, vines, and leaves in her hands. She laughed softly at the look of covetous worship on Carson's face. With competent grace MEKESSG buckled the sheath to the newly decorated baldric.

"Like it?" she teased gently. "One moment more, and I shall really give you something you'll love."

Carson stood waiting with bated breath, fingers twitching slightly. The sheath was simply gorgeous, the sash perhaps too much, but she could always wrap it about her waist or head as soon as MEKESSG's back was turned. What else could the older girl have in store? She watched in great suspense as MEKESSG bustled about the many chests and cupboards and compartments.

"Aha! I've found it!" Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow turned triumphantly, an object of great beauty in her hands.

Unable to help herself, the sixteen-year-old stared in absolute adoration at the sword in the other girl's hands. Shining steel, the blade three feet long if it were an ice, straight as an arrow save for the last six inches, which curved slightly. The hand guard, splendidly polished and etched with the curved, ferocious figures of dragons, caused the girl's grey eyes to grow five sizes larger in an instant. She knew without so much as touching it that the sword would be perfectly balanced.

"Catch." MEKESSG tossed the weapon casually at her.

Half in a daze, Carson's motions were automatic. Her fingers got hold of the hilt and flipped the blade in midair. She caught the sword and sheathed in with the kind of fluid motion displayed so easily by Aragorn, Will, Mr. Anderson, and Darren, but rarely achieved by herself. Three words ran through her mind, fervent and repetitive: _I love it, I love it, I love it._

"Take it."

"What?" She tore her eyes from the fabulous weapon to gaze questioningly into MEKESSG's face. "Again, what?"

"Take it. Thrice forged steel, that. Made by our darling William."

"For who?"

"For Vengeance. That's this beauty's name. Vengeance. He said for me to give it to you."

_Oh, I'm sure,_ Carson thought. Her hand of its own will moved to the beautiful blade's basket. _Vengeance,_ she reminded herself. The girl shivered. A feeling of great anger and doom emanated from the gorgeous sword. Almost she wished to set it aside. Almost, but not enough to actually do so.

"There." MEKESSG smiled, yet Carson felt only more unease. "It suits you."

_I hope not._ This was a weapon to be forcibly conquered, Carson sensed. It would not aid her or work with her. It must be dominated. She could never be equal partners with a sword such as this.

"Come. That wretch Elizabeth will be looking for you. And we have much to discuss this day."

Carson followed her obediently out to the deck. The moment she was sure MEKESSG's back was turned, the girl deftly unwove sash from baldric and instead wound the teal fabric about her head. After wrapping it around her hair twice, her skillful fingers knotted the material. The ends she let dangle down her back. They halted a few inches below her collar.

"Oy! Carson!"

Whirling, the sixteen-year-old saw Elizabeth striding quickly towards her. The young woman carried a biscuit in each hand. "You look gaudy this morning," she observed with a heady smile.

"Gracias." Carson accepted one of the pastries and munched away.

It was a beautiful day, all sunny blue sky and crisp, snapping wind. Still smiling, Elizabeth led the way up to the crow's nest, where they sat and finished their breakfast. The teenager was glad for any excuse whatsoever to ditch MEKESSG. Besides, she knew Elizabeth would help get her mind off Vengeance. The reprieve came at a cost, however.

"I… don't much like heights," she gasped, looking down at the deck of the ship, which now seemed miles away. "At least… not heights like this.'

Her companion laughed merrily. "So it is, Carson. Up here many a grave man may tremble, and a coward may prove himself the hardier."

"I… could get used to it, I think. In time. A lot of time," the girl added in an undertone. She clung to the mast of the ship. The two young women were suspended in the air above the sea. It was over fifty feet down to the deck, fifty feet that grew and shrank exponentially with every passing moment.

"I love it up here," Elizabeth said. "I truly love the sea. Do not you?"

"I do not believe my regard matters to the sea, one way or the other," Carson replied slowly and frankly. "It is its own creature – and a great one at that. For my part, I feel its romanticism and wild, barely restrained power. I respect and fear it. But love it? Perhaps not yet."

"You speak well for a sixteen-year-old," Elizabeth observed acutely.

"I read a good deal," Carson admitted.

"That would explain it." Suddenly the older young woman turned to descend. "Come. We must go practice swordsmanship. Captain's orders."

Quite glad to be returning to the somewhat safer deck, Carson scurried down after her, determined not to look below her if she could avoid it. Once the girl got her feet planted on solid wood, she breathed out a huge sigh of relief. She was about as much at ease as Sam Gamgee in a boat, which is to say, not at all. Elizabeth led her to a circle forming against the starboard rail.

"Today we have a new comrade," Will announced. His gaze met Carson's for a fraction of a second. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably.

"Ye mean _you_ have a new victim," sneered a tall, weathered man in a raggedy gray hat. And no, it wasn't Gandalf. "Get on with it already."

Will nodded in acceptance. "Your will, Captain." He behaved with surprising agreeableness considering scarce two years before his so-called "Captain" had been about to cut his throat. "Very well. Partners for today: er… Pintel, Ragetti; Gibbs, Swenson; Marty, Cotton; Elizabeth, Barbossa; Mary Elizabeth… Carson. I shall stroll about and watch the pairs. Split and set to."

Carson squared off with MEKESSG.

"I'll go easy on you," the other girl promised.

"I'm sure I'll need it," Carson answered drolly.

The customary insults were exchanged, blades were drawn, and the usual stomach butterflies made their presence known. Carson could barely bring herself to hold her new sword. Malice seemed to eat it (and her as she drew it) like a canker. A feeling of aggression entirely unrelated to the business at hand swept through her, and the girl wanted to hurl.

"If all are ready," Will called to the swaggering, posturing pairs, "begin!"

"Watch and learn, Candy," MEKESSG laughed. With impossibly quick movements, she sent the dragon blade flying and knocked her partner to the ground.

Carson jumped up and looked around wildly for her sword. Already their overseer had reached it. He picked up the weapon and looked it over. The brunette pirate shuddered. He crossed the deck and gave it to its owner quickly, as if he could not rid himself of it soon enough. Once again their eyes met for the slightest moment before both looked away.

"Shall we try it again, dear?" MEKESSG asked sadistically. Nothing of what passed between the two of them escaped her.

"I suppose."

By the end of that morning's sparring, the sixteen-year-old had been knocked down at least a dozen times. She rose after the last one with quite a great wince. Fencing – especially fencing with the types Mr. Anderson usually put her with – tended to generate a good deal of bumps and bruises. They rarely ended with one person having been knocked down fifteen times in a row, however.

_And just think… More of that tomorrow and the next day and the next day…_ Rolling her eyes, Carson limped away to the stern of the ship. _I don't know how much more of her… of this whole situation… I can take. And this sword… _The girl held it out at arms' length. _Gods, ill-will just pulses along it. Can you change the nature of the sword? Probably not in this world. But in the others? Maybe._

_And that's another question, _she added. _Are there other worlds? I mean, real alternative realities? Ugh. I make no sense… But if there are… how do they interact? Are they aware of one another? Or do they all just exist side by side, never knowing that there's more out there besides themselves? Are worlds then like people, going about their daily business, neither noticing nor caring others exist outside themselves? Do we all just bustle along and never think of what may come afterwards? Of how our actions affect others and may indeed alter the course of events running on down through Time?_

_Valar, I've gotten deep, _the girl thought with a laugh. After checking to make sure the coast was clear, she opened the battered door of the head. Carson crept into one of the partitioned areas. Returning a few moments later, the sixteen-year-old cast about desperately for some soap. At last she found a small cake of it. The girl scrubbed her hands vigorously with the rough lye. It felt like sandpaper and stank nearly as bad as the head itself.

_MEKESSG ought to have soap. _With that comforting thought, Carson bustled from the head and set off fro the captain's cabin. A strange whim prompted her to climb the ladder to the top deck, to nod at the helmsman and curtsy to Barbossa (always a tricky thing in trousers). The same impulse took her to the very bow of the ship, where leaning out over the bowsprit stood a Creole woman dressed in filthy rags that could not hide her deep majesty. Carson knew her as a wise woman and witch, but also as the great sea goddess she was.

"Tia Dalma," the girl murmured, sinking down to one knee. A hand moved to her breast as a sign of reverence. A heathen goddess, she might be, but a goddess all the same.

The woman turned. Her waves of dark hair rustled ever so gently in the breeze. "You… you 'ave a touch of destiny about you, Cahn-dohr-ee-ehn."

"You know my name?" The young mortal looked up into Tia Dalma's eyes and saw in them an infinite joy, sorrow, and wisdom granted by the long expanse of years.

Tia Dalma continued as if she had not heard, the sorrow in her black eyes growing sevenfold. "You will go back, chile. But 'ze cost… to you and to 'dose you love… I feah fo' ye, chile. I feah wha' ye will become, if _she_ is not stopped."

There was, as usual, no need to ask who '_she_' was. There never was somehow whenever Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow was around. "What?" the girl wondered, still on one knee. "What will I become?"

"I cannot say," the wise woman whispered, shaking her dark noble head. "A shadow lies on ye, chile. A shadow not of 'dis worl'."

"Tia Dalma… Calypso."

Black eyes locked onto the teenager before them. They flashed briefly in recognition of the name. A slight smile graced the woman's lips. "Yes, chile?"

"What am I to do?" Carson asked in simple desperation.

Gently the sea goddess raised her to her feet, pity in her wise old eyes. "Follow yer heart," she advised softly, looking out over what had once been her realm and plaything. "'Der be notin' else to do."

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**Author's Note: Like it? Hate it? Is this one moving quickly enough for you? Just a little reminder - the more reviews the authoress gets the more likely she is to update - and she loves updating! **

**Best of Wishes,**

**Authoressinhiding**


	5. Will

**Slayer3 – I know she was much less Sueish, but I fear darling Lizzy and I shall never get along.**

**Booknut – O.o Your name is in the dreaded MEKESSG's? What is it, pray tell? I cannot rest until I know.**

**Celebrytie Aris Channas – You must always wait for me, I fear. My apologies it took so long.**

**Ames – Believe it or not, I am going to tell you… James will make a cameo eventually. **

**Emily – I don't really know how to write Lizzy… perhaps I have spent too much time avoiding her.**

**Albert – No, ours is "Learning Microsoft Office XP Deluxe Edition".**

**Inwe – Yes, we is set in AWE… technically, though, we is set just prior to AWE, in the lapse of time between DMC and AWE… they didn't just fly to Singapore, you know.**

**Krys – See above review reply.**

**Disclaimer: I own Pirates, Rings, the world, and Orlando Bloom. Yeah.**

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The next few days aboard the ship soon settled into a tense, uneasy rhythm. Carson rose early, listened to Elizabeth's worrying over Will, and kept her own opinions to herself. Every morning and evening, the fencers met for practice, and the girl got her behind kicked by MEKESSG, Barbossa, or Elizabeth. The continual being dumped on her rear led to an irritable, frustrated teenager. Often MEKESSG would drag her off for clothes fittings, makeovers, and other such nonsense. Although Carson constantly put her foot down, nothing seemed able to quench her indomitable thirst for the other girl to be beautiful, different, and enchanting.

"I'm already different enough," she growled after escaping yet another attempt to dress her in too-small clothes. "I like myself the way I am, at any rate. And if I want change, _I _shall instigate it. There's no need for you to be always fussing at me."

As if she didn't have enough on her plate, what with avoiding MEKESSG's attempts to beautify her and striving to keep from seasickness, more troubles arose every time she saw a certain Mr. Turner. Whenever their eyes met (which was fairly often), her stomach performed various acrobatic feats, much to her discomfort. They rarely spoke; each had seen something the other wished they had not. Still, Carson found herself wondering if her eyes really were so haunted. The girl doubled the number of times she smiled and tried to be sincere about it.

For his part, Will seemed more troubled, not less. He became brusquer at sparring. The man's irritable distemper came to resemble that of a crotchety old man. He sulked, looked on the world with dark eyes, and closed up to Elizabeth. The amount of hugging, kissing, and bantering decreased drastically. The only time the brunette pirate spoke to Carson was when she failed at a pass or parry. In truth, he avoided both girl and her sword like the clichéd plague.

Five days after her arrival on board the ship, all Carson's problems came to a head. The crew, neurotic with worried terror that Davy Jones and his _Dutchman_ were going to find them at any second, bickered and harangued one another. No more at ease, their captain watched the low spirits of his men. Something had to be done before a mutiny was called. And stores were running out.

All these thoughts danced through Barbossa's mind. He had to take action before morale got any lower. That was painfully obvious. As an instigator of mutiny himself, the pirate lord well knew what another dip in morale might bring. When a green-brown blur formed on the horizon in the late morning, his decision was made.

"All hands to the quarter deck!" Bells rang, feet pounded, and the ship's company assembled on deck.

"Listen, the lot of ye!" Barbossa's voice soared loud and clear over the mutterings of the others. Silence fell. They all stood with eager eyes and waiting ears. "This afternoon we drop anchor and refill the water casks on yonder isle. If all is done in good time, tonight we feast!"

His audience roared their approval. The captain gave one of his rare smiles and dismissed them. Elated by the thought of getting off the ship, Carson skipped over to Elizabeth.

"How soon should we be there?" she asked giddily.

"A few hours, if the wind holds," Elizabeth answered. She glanced over at Will, who was standing by himself off to the port side of the deck. "I wish I knew what was wrong with him," she murmured, not meaning for Carson to overhear.

She did but said nothing. If Elizabeth did not want Carson to know she was worried about Will, that was her business.

"I have to go," the older young woman said, this time addressing Carson. Without another word, she crossed the deck, intent on intercepting Will. The younger girl turned away. She did not want to see the pain in her friends' eyes as they failed to solve their relationship issues.

"Tragic, isn't it?" MEKESSG laid a hand on Carson's shoulder and forced her back around, as Elizabeth put a hand on Will's arm only to have him fling it away. "Poor Lizzie. Her boyfriend doesn't seem to want her anymore. The wind is changing."

"What are you on about?" Carson jerked free and set off towards the opposite end of the ship, only to be stopped once more. "Honestly…"

"Carson, I see you and Master Turner rarely speak."

"We hardly know one another," she murmured noncommittally. Allowing MEKESSG to see into her mind was _not_ part of the plan… not that Carson had a plan.

"But surely that would not usually stop you, am I correct? Why is it that you, whose loquaciousness and affability cannot be questioned, say nothing to and show no preference for a man who must surely arouse both your pity and your regard?"

"How I feel and what I think is really none of your business." A quick glance over her shoulder showed Will stalking off to the bowsprit and Elizabeth standing alone looking crumpled. She felt sorry for the both of them. They would eventually fix things between them, but much pain would have to be endured first. Carson wished she could take that pain away.

"Oh, Candy… when are you going to learn that I am here to help me."

"When I actually thing you're here to help me. You always have an angle, don't you? Could you just leave me out of it for once?"

"Candy, Candy, Candy." MEKESG put an arm around the other girl's shoulder and pulled her close. "Why must you always mistrust me?"

"Because you have proved yourself bipolar, untrustworthy, and on the whole a greater nuisance than I want to deal with. Whenever you show up, my life gets flipped upside down. And I'm sick of it. I nearly had to switch schools, I get called a freak at least every other week or so, and my parents treat me like a china doll when they aren't lecturing me. Every time you come around, my manageable little high school life becomes a nightmare."

Furious, the girl spun on her heel and headed for the bowsprit, her favorite sulking spot when it was unoccupied. Lost in her head, she failed to notice where she was going. Unsurprisingly, Carson bumped into someone.

"Pardon me…" she began, but then she got a look at the person she'd run into. "Oh."

Will Turner stared down at her, the wild, frozen look of an animal caught in a trap. Carson stood petrified by his gaze. For a short moment that felt like an age, neither spoke. Then he nodded and sidestepped around her. The girl watched as he climbed quickly up the rigging. He stopped upon reaching the second spar and leaned against the mast. Will looked out over the open ocean but was too far away for the near-sighted girl to determine his expression.

"We all have our means of escape," came a soft voice from behind her.

"What is it you want now, Mary Elizabeth?" the girl sighed.

"Do you wish he loved you?" MEKESSG's voice was kind and sympathetic. Almost it persuaded Carson to unburden herself. But no, not yet. "I see it in your eyes, my young friend. You love him."

"Whether I do or not is no business of yours."

Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow laughed gently. "Dear, dear, dear Candorien… your business may belong to more than me if you do not take care." Still laughing, she walked to the captain's cabin and vanished inside.

* * *

That evening after helping foul-mouthed sailors fill behemoth hogsheads, being yelled at fifteen times by Barbossa, MEKESSG, and/or Elizabeth for tomfoolery, eating heartily of a roasted pig that had tried to gore the last, and singing loud pirate drinking songs with only water to drink herself, Carson escaped to the beach to think. She strode barefoot across the sand, footgear and vest abandoned beside a lone palm tree ten yards from the water.

Twilight had been and gone; she walked beneath a black sky. Starlight and moonlight shone upon the waters, shedding just enough light to guide her path. Alone under that dark sky, she marveled at how bright the stars were. Tiny white gems filled with luminescent radiance.

"A Elbereth, Gilthoniel, we still remember, we who dwell, in this far land beneath the tress, thy starlight on the Western Seas," she sang softly. "Is this how it looked, long ago before the Fear came… ere elf sang or hammer rang, ere Angband or Mordor existed to plague the weary world? What am I saying?" she caught herself. "This is Earth, plain Earth. It and its great pirate lords do not bend the knee to Varda, Queen of the Stars."

With a deep sigh, the girl turned her eyes from the stars. She gazed out over the dark water for a long moment. Then on impulse Carson rolled her trouser legs up over her knees. Slowly she stepped into the water. Cool, wet sand oozed up between her toes. Waves lapped gently over her feet. She took another step. Now the water swirled around her ankles.

_I hope there's not anything nasty in _this_ shallow water._

Carson turned and strode along the sea shore, half-in, half-out of the water.

"What are we going to do?" she murmured. "What the heck am I supposed to do?"

The gentle waves splashing against the sand gave no answer. Still she listened to them for a moment before continuing with her monologue.

"Pirates, Will, freedom upon the open sea – what girl could wish for more? And yet… Fairy tales don't come true… at least not this sort. Not to mention Mary Elizabeth-thing is involved again. Hmmm. What can she be up to? Will? No, she doesn't flirt even a tenth of what she did around Legolas. Barbossa? An easy conquest, at least on the surface. What on earth is she planning? Ugh."

Carson stopped pacing and plopped onto the dry sand just above the waterline. Waves washed over her feet as she sat and thought. Though the vista was beautiful and sailing a grand new adventure, the girl felt strangely homesick. She longed for her crazy friends that so often knew what she was going to say before she said it. Maybe one of them would be able to help her make sense of this whole strange situation. Rather belatedly, Carson realized she owed them all an apology for her neurotic behavior the last few weeks. She often felt torn and depressed, but that wasn't their fault, and she oughtn't let it affect her treatment of them. The girl sighed and watched the _'Hawk_ bobbing at anchor.

"May I join you?"

Not entirely focused, Carson nodded without looking up to check her visitor's identity. The newcomer seated himself beside her, carefully drawing his feet out of the water's reach.

"What troubles disturb you and keep you from enjoying the night's festivities?"

At last the voice permeated her cloudy thoughts. Carson's insides froze as she realized Will Turner was sitting beside her. A long moment passed in silence as she debated with her fight-or-flight response. Finally she swallowed and muttered, "Things were getting a little rowdy. I can't drink rum. And… and I wanted to be alone," the girl finished a little rebelliously.

"I take it my company is unwelcome, then?"

She flushed. "No, of course not. I've done quite a bit of thinking and being alone tonight. A bit of quiet company wouldn't be too disagreeable."

No one spoke for several minutes. After the silence grew _very_ uncomfortable indeed, Will spoke up.

"You are doing better that I thought you would," he commented.

"Pardon?"

"Truth be told, I did not think a girl so obviously unused to life at sea would adapt so well so quickly."

"I'm not sure whether to feel flattered or insulted," Carson remarked dryly. "Not that I've adapted well. Heights still make me dizzy, and I nearly puke every time I have to use the head."

"You fight decently for a child and a girl…"

"I am sixteen. Not a child."

Will flicked his dark eyes over to the petulant girl. "Age does not determine adulthood," he said softly. "One may be six and ten and grown or six and thirty and not grown. It all depends."

"On what?"

"People and circumstances… everything that's involved, I suppose."

"So you think I'm still a child?"

Dark brown eyes lit as the pirate smiled. He studied her for several long moments until at last she, blushing, turned away. She felt his gaze on her still. Carson looked out over the sea. The girl hummed softly. Lyrics coursed through her head. She turned back to meet the brunette man's eyes.

"Neither," he said decisively as she did so. "Half-grown."

Carson quirked an eyebrow, unconsciously leaning in towards him. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Will moved towards her ever so slightly. Their eyes locked. Gray and brown struggled desperately for the mastery. She was strangely different, Will thought. An oddity and wild card in his already crazy world. But she listened and would not let him deceive her. He continued, "Your eyes are old, you fight well, and you speak with skill. But…" he paused for a moment.

_Yes, _Carson grumbled silently to herself, _the ever-present 'but'._

"You let your emotions rule you. You act on impulse, have a _nasty_ temper."

"When have you seen my temper?"

'You were shouting at the captain's lady yesterday morning."

"Was I?" The young woman struggled to remember. "Funny… it all seems to blend together somehow."

"What? Do you not like the lady?" He leaned back and away.

Carson found herself oddly disappointed. "She uses and controls people. She wishes for me to be something I'm not… so we disagree."

"What are you?" Will asked in a suddenly husky voice. He moved towards her again.

Carson splashed her feet in the water for a moment. Then, staring into his eyes, she answered, "I really don't know. A musician and a scholar, a fighter and a friend. How can one define oneself? It is too difficult a task."

"What is it she wants you to be?"

"Beautiful and sly and commanding and deceitful… that's not me!"

"I wouldn't say that," Will murmured. His dark brown eyes gazed into her stormy gray ones.

"Oh?" Carson made a face of mock affront. "So I _am _deceitful then?"

"No, of course not." The man smiled down at her. "You're beautiful." Without really know why he did it, he gathered her into his arms and pulled her across the short distance between them. "Very beautiful." Then he bent his head slowly and kissed her.


	6. I Wish

**Em – The sad thing is, my floundering fishy friend, I don't use a thesaurus.**

**Booknut – I do believe it. One of my friend's names is Sara.**

**Pippin Baggins – I most heartily agree with you.**

**Slayer3 – Make up your mind. First you beg for shippiness then you exorcise my fics. Watch it.**

**Ames – Inhale. Exhale. And trust me.**

**TheBlahFactor – Why are we hitting Will again?**

**Krys – Neither did almost anyone else.**

**Arya Svit'kona Shur'tagal – Go back and reread the chapter. It just did.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing tangible but the souls of everyone and everything. Ha.**

**A/N: I know I'm technivally deviating from the straight and narrow path of canon, but trust me. Please... Is wear everything will work out and even the franchise owners won't**** be able to complain too badly.**

* * *

Even as her blood raced and heart pounded, Carson kept her head. She leapt to her feet and backed away. Will stared up at her, rather shocked, perhaps, by her reaction. "No," she mumbled, retreating towards the tree and her footwear. "No. I … just… no… I can't."

"What are you doing?"

"Have to go." She was babbling now. "Gotta dash. See ya around."

"Carson, wait." The pirate scrambled up rather belatedly. "Why are you going?"

"This is wrong, Will. Elizabeth… you love Elizabeth. Not me. Do you really want to hurt her like this?"

"But you're different," he observed. "You don't give me half-answers and suspicious looks or blink dark eyes full of tears at me."

_Only because I hate crying in front of people when I can avoid it, _she thought.

"You are special." Quickly Will closed the distance between the two of them. Carson backed further away. Her feet stumbled among the roots of the palm tree.

"Just because I'm not like Elizabeth doesn't mean that I'm right for you or that she isn't." Her back was against the tree now, and she could flee no further.

"I really like you, Carson," the man murmured. He took another step forwards, placing his hands on the rough grey bole of the tree. The girl was hemmed in with no way out. "I think I might even love you."

Suddenly Will was kissing her again, passionately this time. Without intending to, Carson kissed him back. Her head felt dizzy and giddy and oh so light. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him and hear him say those three words that meant more to her than all the treasure in the world. Will leaned into the kiss, pinning the girl to the palm with his body. For a moment Carson lost herself in the kiss, in the rush of emotion, release of pent-up energies, and resolution of subconscious conflict.

Then her brain (and the persnickety voice within it) struggled back to awareness. A thousand thoughts whirled through her mind in mere seconds. Complex, mixed emotions warred within her. Then she chose.

"No!" Like a madwoman possessed, the girl pushed Will away. She snatched up her things, jerking her feet into stockings and laced-up boots. Vest over her arm, she turned to run away – far and fast and never return. Carson did not want to have to deal with this – not now, not ever.

"Carson, don't! Please!"

The girl stared don in wonder at the shining steel pointed at her chest. A look of wild desperation glinted in Will's dark eyes.

"Please," he reiterated in a soft, dangerous voice.

She swallowed hard. Loath as she was to do such a thing, there seemed to be no other choice. Reluctantly the girl drew her dragon blade.

The two swords met with a hair-raising scrape. Man and girl gazed into one another's eyes with a painful intensity. Each saw the other's demons writ plainly upon their faces. Almost Carson blanched at the destructive chaos that wreathed her opponent like a cloud. Will looked upon something hard and scared, the face of someone in over her head yet pledged to the end.

"Don't make me defeat you." The words were a sibilant hiss in the moonlight.

"Do what you will. I cannot forego the pleadings of my own conscience." Her voice was quiet and sad. Flight was no longer an option. She must stand and weather the storm as best she could.

"Carson…"

"Will."

"Why can't you…?"

"I can't. I wish I could, yes, more than I can say, I do. But…" she shrugged, a dark movement beneath a dark sky. "We both know this isn't the way it was meant to be. Please, for the first time in your life, have some good common sense."

"Then you give me no choice." Like a whirlwind he was one her. His sword darted and struck so quickly it became nothing more than a gleam of silver and a soft whoosh of air in the night. In a trice he hooked her blade with his and flung it away into the darkness. Within another few seconds he knocked her to the ground and steadied a foot on her collarbone to keep her there.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, torn between tears and fury.

"Long as you're down there you can explain some things."

"Gerroff me, toe rag!" Carson caught hold of his foot and twisted, hard.

Will collapsed to one knee, a look of shocked pain marring his fine features. The girl jumped up and would have run off, but her moaned softly. Carson halted. Should she go back or flee to the boats? Had she really hurt him so badly? In the end her guilt prevailed. She stepped quickly to the man's side.

"You okay?"

"What do you think?" he spat viciously. "Help me up."

Carson extended a hand. Gritting his teeth, Will took the help and slowly drew himself up. He leaned against the palm tree for a long moment, breathing heavily.

"Sorry," she mumbled after a moment.

"I… was in … the wrong," the pirate got out between very deep breaths. "My apologies."

"Can you walk?"

"Just a bad sprain. Help me find our swords."

The two made a brisk search along the shore. Will limped along, seemingly unwilling to accept further assistance. The limp gradually lessened until at last it disappeared completely. Will's sword and Carson's vest were easy to find. She donned the latter forthwith, uncomfortably aware of how sheer white linen was.

Finding her own sword took a while longer. At last a ray of moonlight glittered off the polished steel. Will picked it up, frowning distastefully.

"Where did you get this/?" he inquired, holding onto it.

"Mary Elizabeth Fishface gave it to me," Carson answered slowly, rather confused. "She said you forged it… for Vengeance."

Even as the words left her lips, Will shook his head. "No. I would not make such a thing," he protested fervently. "It reeks of ill-will and evil, for all its fine construction. This sword does not feel right. It is not complacent, as it ought to be. I do not like your use of it."

"What would you have me use, then?"

HE smiled down at her in the darkness. "Come with me."

More than slightly nonplussed, she followed him back to the boats. Choosing the smallest, the brunette bade her get in. Then he pushed it out into the waves and leapt in himself. Full of some secret he would not share, Will spoke nary a word the whole way out to the _'Hawk_. Sweat beaded on his brow as he rowed. Carson studied him in the moonlight, her heart filled with longing for this man she would always want but never have. Every so often he looked up and met her eyes; a jolt always shot through her. For the most part, however, it was as if he were giving her this opportunity to look all she liked. Carson's gray eyes flicked quickly up and down, right and left, to memorize the contours and planes of his face.

Soon, too soon, they arrived at the ship. Will tethered the jollyboat with skill, and they ascended the rope ladder up and over the ship's side.

"This way," the man directed. He led her past the watch on deck, through the foc'sle, and down to a cramped little cabin beneath the figurehead. It contained a wide shelf of a bunk and a sea chest. Will bent down and fiddled with the lock on the chest. Once it was open, he rifled through it, muttering things under his breath like, "Where is it?" and "I know I put it here" all the while.

"Aha!" he exclaimed in triumph, pulling a sword sheathed in worn leather from the depths of the chest. "Here. Get rid of that… thing."

In his haste for the dragon blade to be gone, Will would not wait but instead unbuckled it and fasted the new sword to Carson's bandolier himself. She stood without moving, knowing instinctively that any effort on her part would hinder much more than it helped. The girl's face flamed as she realized the awkwardness of her situation.

"There." He stopped, one hand touching the hilt of the sword. Still kneeling, the pirate looked up into her anxious gray eyes. Silence fell. He took her hand, tracing the lines on her palm gently with his thumb. "Will you refuse me?" he asked at last in a quiet, mournful tone.

With this last question, she could control herself no more. A single opalescent tear slid down Carson's cheek, followed by another, then two more, until a veritable flood of tears streamed from her eyes. This was so embarrassing.

"Carson!" Will stood, startled, as she cried. "What is it?"

"I like you," she sobbed, mortification increasing tenfold. "I really do. But you belong with Elizabeth. I can't take you from her." _And if I did, Jerry Bruckheimer would eat my soul._

Gently he gathered her in his arms, pulling her close. She buried her face in his shoulder and cried. Rather taken aback by her emotion, the man slowly got her to sit down with him on the bunk.

Terribly chagrinned, the girl quit crying. "Forgive me," she murmured. "I … I just wish we could be friends. Friends and nothing more."

"If that is what you want." His eyes lingered on the streaks left behind by tears.

"That is what I want."

"Carson… you are like nothing I've ever known." Will scooted over and stretched out on the rough mattress. "You aren't a lady, but you are a girl. You know how to be polite, but you aren't. You fight and use dirty street tricks, but you can barely venture into the rigging. You win the love of a man and desire it not."

"I do want your love." Carson turned to look him in the eye and found herself lying beside him. "Just not like that."

"You see?" he said in mock-exasperation. "What am I to do with you?"

"Teach me, befriend me, help me to keep my bloody mouth shut, you know, the usual."

"Carson, my dear," the man reached a hand out to touch her cheek, "with you nothing is usual."

She smiled at him. "I wish…"

"Yes?"

"I wish I could tell you that I'm fantastic and mysterious and cosmopolitan, but I'm not. I'm just… me."

"I believe you just did."

"Well, I wish you'd believe me when I tell you I'm not."

"Why should I? Evidence of your being else wise, though you refuse to admit it, is ever before my eyes."

"Will!"

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

Carson blushed, glad it was dark and he could not see her face. After a moment's silence, Will leaned over her in the dark.

"I really do like you," he whispered to her.

She moved closer to him. "I know."

The man reached out a hand and tilted her chin upwards to look at him. He raised an eyebrow.

"I like you too." Propping herself up on an elbow, Carson kissed him. As she sank back down onto the pallet, Will slipped an arm beneath her head.

"Go to sleep," he told her kindly. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

Smiling slightly, Carson closed her eyes and fell into pleasant dreams.

* * *

**Author's Note: Your opinions are always welcome. They help me become a better writer. And that, in the end, is the ultimate goal. Thanks for reading.**

**Authoressinhiding**


	7. Answers

**Disclaimer: I don't even own my own alto saxophone. What makes you think I could ever own any of this?**

**A/N: For various reasons, I decided not to do review replies this last chapter.**

* * *

The girl woke to a dreary gray half-light. She grumbled uncontentedly and prepared to roll out of her hammock. Then she realized where she was.

Somehow during the night she had migrated. She was curled up on her side, head comfortably resting on someone's chest. Warm arms encircled her in a snug but not claustrophobic embrace. Will's chin grazed the top of her head as he inhaled deeply in his sleep.

Carson lay there, still half-asleep, mesmerized by the rhythmic ka-dump, ka-dump of his heart. The man's shirt was halfway open, and her head rested on bare skin. She breathed in, lulled to relaxation by his heartbeat. He smelt of sea salt, lime, tar, and sweat. Carson loved it. It was an unusual scent, to be sure, but not an unpleasant one. Somehow it comforted her. The girl lay there and thought, overwhelmed by the remonstrances of her conscience.

_Bad, bad, bad idea! _it howled.

Carson grinned. _So what? I like my choice._

_He's going to break your hart!_

_Don't they always?_

_Watch it, girl. You could become so besotted something _really_ unfortunate happens._

_Right…_

She inhaled slowly, reveling in this new feeling. Will's body was relaxed and made the perfect pillow. She closed her eyes lazily. It was warm here, warm and safe. Carson almost wished she could stay there forever in perfect peace.

Unfortunately, girls like Carson do not get peace, whether they deserve it or no.

Even as she breathed in the harsh, salty scent of the man beside her, the door to the cabin banged open. Carson instantly wriggled out of Will's arms without waking him. She drew the sword he had given her before the intruder could fully enter.

MEKESSG strode into the cabin, garbed in some sort of rosy gauze robe that left nothing to the imagination. Carson contemplated covering Will's eyes, but he was still asleep, and she had worse things to deal with. Instead, she glared at MEKESSG, remembering all her grievances and injuries at the other girl's hands.

The older girl surveyed Carson with a searching eye. She noticed the way one hand reached back until it found Will's and how his clenched hers even in sleep. She saw peace on two previously distressed faces. MEKESG smiled, greatly pleased.

Carson saw the smile and shivered. For a moment, things had been right. Now they were all wrong – again. Why was she surprised?

"What are you doing here?" Carson demanded before MEKESSG could say anything.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. Nice work," the other girl commented, looking significantly at Will.

Carson went tense. This did not sound good. The girl forced herself to swallow, focus on Will's hand holding hers, think. She had to get answers this time. "What ever do you mean?"

"I congratulate you on your first conquest." MEKESSG bowed low, practically flashing a scandalized Carson in the process. "May you have many more."

'What are you talking about?"

"Will Turner, my darling, is yours. Look."

The man whimpered in his sleep. Carson mumbled something offhand in the same soft tone she used with her horse. Will quieted.

"I rest my case," the beautiful girl laughed. "He loves you, and you love him. I can read it in your eyes. It hurts, doesn't it? You love Will Turner, but beyond this your self-imposed rules will never let you have him." She smiled. "Let me help you, Carson. Let me fix it. Let me make it all better… Candorien."

"For what you want most, there is a cost must be paid in the end." Carson looked down and away. Her gaze fell on Will's peaceful, sleeping face. "I am afraid of that cost."

Her words were whispered, meant only for her own ears, and so MEKESSG did not hear them. She snatched Carson's arm and yanked her from the cabin.

_No! _Carson thought desperately as she was forced to let go of Will's hand. The girl clutched her sword and backpedaled to keep from being dragged into some wall or random hard object. _This can only end badly._

"What the heck is going on?" she growled when MEKESSG at last jerked to a halt and shoved her inside what looked conspicuously like a cramped broom cupboard.

"Candy, honey, we need to talk."

Carson perched awkwardly on top of a barrel of nails and balanced her feet on a coil of tar-stained rope. The tiny carpenter's closet was filled with folded white linen sails, boxes of nails, hammers, and awls, and piles of rough, salty rope. There was barely enough room in the small pace for one girl, let alone two.

"Do you love Will?" Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow asked earnestly. "I mean really and truly care about him?"

"Yes."

"Do you wish he could be yours?"

"Of course. But he isn't, and he never will be."

MEKESSG smirked. "Candorien" –

"Carson."

"Whatever. Candy, darling, don't limit yourself. You can do anything you want – it's all a question of means. Do you know what I am, Candorien?"

"Evil," the younger girl muttered under her breath.

"Talented," MEKESSG said at once. "Gifted. I am… a member of a sisterhood with… wide interests." She paused for a moment, then continued on rapidly. "Aren't you tired of those rich preppy girls laughing as they pass you with their husky blond boyfriends? Haven't you had enough of being ignored? Aren't you sick of having your heart broken? You have some of the saddest eyes I've ever seen, Carson, and I have seen much more than you think. Don't you want to be happy?"

The hopeful look that came into the other girl's face was answer enough. She went on, "I can heal you, Carson. I can help you change everything – just say the word. You have power and beauty those girls will never know. I can show you how to use them. That's what we – the members of my sisterhood – do." Then she said with simple sincerity, "Men love us."

Normally Carson would have rolled her eyes and sighed, but not now. She knew MEKESSG told the truth. Men did love her. Annoying as she was, MEKESSG was adored by males everywhere.

"Do you desire the knowledge that one word of yours – one motion, one sigh, one tear, one pout – will send a score of men scurrying to do your bidding? It can happen, Candorien. Easily. Allow me to teach you what I know."

"Why me?" The girl knew the tangibility of what MEKESSG was offering. She just wanted to be well informed before she committed herself to anything.

"You have an air about you. A natural charm. You know how to draw people to you and rarely make enemies."

_Shows what you know, _Carson thought acerbically, remember her uptight English teacher, her whiny preppy classmates, and all her fencing judges that did not like the way she sparred. _I often make enemies. They just don't know we're enemies._

"You are gorgeous in your own special way." MEKESSG stroked Carson's cheek. The younger girl shivered at her cold touch. "No ingénue or pin-up girl, but you possess a beauty all your own. What's more, you can persuade people to help you achieve your ends. Everyone likes you, Candorien. You are smart, funny, and detail-oriented. You simply must join our sisterhood."

"Well…" The girl dragged the word out, playing for time.

"Candy." MEKESSG laid a hand on her knee. "Once I asked you if you desired immortality. Now I beg your answer. Would you?"

"Um…"

"Candorien, I have charmed many men under many skies. I have pledged my heart beneath strange stars so often it all runs together in my head. I look seventeen but have lived many thousands of years. From elves to aliens, from sorcerer-kings to scholars, I have romanced them all. My sisters and I live in a hundred thousand stories. We enjoy every luxury, are constantly protected, and can have any man we choose. Do you not want such a life?"

Carson countered with a question of her own. "Riddle me this: are these men allowed to choose, or _must _they love you?"

Her companion laughed gaily. "Choose? Carson, men are blessed by our attentions. They cannot keep away from us. You've heard of Destiny, I don't doubt. We are _theirs_, plain and simple. And Destiny looses its power over us. You and I and my sisters… We are the ones that choose. It's that easy." She hesitated for a moment. "Here… while I'm thinking of it." MEKESG withdrew an enormous book, bound in black leather and edged with gold, from the folds of her… robe. "Catch."

Carson's arms ached from all the hard work she had done of late, but the girl still managed to grab the monster book. For all its size, the book barely weighed a pound. Unable to stop herself, she flipped through it. Chapter titles and headings with names such as Valdemar, Aman, Tortall, Port Royal, Rivendell, Hogsmeade, and Faer-ûn caught her eye.

"That's your Index of Realms. Tells you everything you'll ever need to know about every place you'll ever have to visit. Culture, history, language, geography, politics… everything." The older girl smirked at the sudden interested gleam in Carson's eyes. She pulled two more books from her robe. One was a thick, midnight blue affair embossed with artsy silver letters. The other was blood-red and gold. "This," MEKESSG held up the first, "is our Magisterium. It will teach you how to use your powers. Now for my personal favorite," she added, holding up the crimson tome. "_A Study in Beauty_. All the handsome bachelors in existence, organized by realm, desirability, availability, and last name – availability means how many of the girls are after that guy. Very useful – and a break from ugliness. Whenever you're lonely and surrounded by normies, just open the book and find your favorite hunk. All the eye candy in the all the worlds lies at your fingertips."

Carson took the other two books hesitantly.

"Power, Candorien. I give it you. The ability to find true love. I give it you. The freedom to choose your path. I give it you. Now you must choose. Do you accept all this? I offer it to you freely."

Slipping all three books into her vest pocket, the girl thought, long and hard. Her conscience refused to condone certain behavior. Her heart longed for freedom, but her heart counseled caution. This once, she was forced to listen to it. It spoke softly and nobly of ideals and morals so deeply embedded in her their removal would prove her destruction.

"Candorien?

At last she made her decision. With a sad smile, Carson/Candorien (for they were the same girl when all was said and done) shook her head. "No." Sad grey eyes hardened. A flicker of something MEKESSG did not recognize burned in their depths. "Pardon my blunt words, but I cannot be part of any such thing. I say 'yes' to choice, but choice for all. I would not force my desires upon others."

MEKESSG's emerald eyes flamed. "Then your doom is set, Carson McArthur." Her gorgeous face was contorted with pure fury. Ill will assaulted Carson like a physical force. She staggered. Enraged, MEKESSG spat "Go. Go and s what you have done. Because you refuse what I offer, Will's heart shall be broken even further. He will captain the _Dutchman_ alone for eternity. And _you _are the one to blame."

Suddenly Carson was caught up in the crazy light and music. As she began to fall, MEKESSG's taunting voice lingered in her ears. "Bye-bye, Baby Candy! Despair in the knowledge that with you gone, Legolas shall finally be mine!"

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**Author's Note: The first part of your Valentine's gift from your darling Authoress is up. I hope to give you more soon.**

**XOXOXOXO... or skulls and crossbones,**

**Authoressinhiding**


	8. the Dutchman

**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. **

* * *

Waves of briny water smashed down on Carson's head, burying the struggling blond in their depths. Panicking, she thrashed and kicked her way up to the surface.

_Ye gods, where am I? _the girl thought desperately as the treaded water with great difficulty. _Oh._

Her eyes lit on a ship not too far off.

"Ahoy!" she spluttered, coughing up a great deal of seawater. "Help! Help!"

Convinced no one had heard her, Carson stroked for the ship. Each time a wave broke over her she swallowed half the sea. The girl kept shouting as he got nearer. Finally she spotted the dark figures of sailors moving about the deck. They lowered a boat and climbed into it. At last they began rowing towards her.

IN a few minutes the boat had reached her. Hands callused from years of hard labor caught hold of her vest and dragged her aboard. Carson lay in the bottom of the longboat, freezing. She heard the rough, agitated voices of her rescuers but was too exhausted to listen.

Soon the sailors were back at their ship. Carson closed her eyes as she was lifted bodily and carried up the ladder to the deck. Her carrier passed her off to someone else. What little talk she could hear onboard ceased.

"Captain!" one of the men from the rescue party called out in a bewildered tone. "Cap'n, we have a live 'un!"

"What?" demanded an aristocratic, accented voice. "Matthews, you must be joking."

"A live one, you say?" asked another, softer voice that the girl instantly recognized.

Carson was passed to yet another person. This time, she opened her eyes. Thought she had known who she would see, the seeing itself still felt like a blow. "Ello, poppet,' she murmured with a wry smile. "Miss me?"

Carson was fully prepared for what happened next. Even as he dropped her, her legs bent, and she managed to land in a crouch. She turned and made a sweeping bow to the crew. Then Carson looked back at the man who had let her fall.

"Will Turner," Carson nodded slightly, "you look good."

To be truthful, he looked exactly as she remembered him. Red shirt open past his collarbone, dark hair wavy and tangled from the wind, hand clenched reflexively on his sword. His eyes alone were changed. At peace now, but full of a sorrowful wisdom that cut Carson's heart like a knife. Thought deep down she knew it wasn't so, the girl blamed herself for his sadness.

"You're alive." He would not even meet her eyes. "Neither dead nor dying… take her to the brig, Matthews, Brinker. This is not a ship for those who walk God's green earth."

Before Carson could so much as draw her sword, indeed before she was over the shock of where she was and what was going on, the two sailors named grasped her forearms _very_ tightly.

_Drat. This can only end badly._

"Get yer filthy mitts off me!" Carson howled. Ignoring her, the men forcibly dragged her below decks. This was too much for the sixteen-year-old, who had always prided herself on being somewhat of a spitfire. She got one arm loose and proceeded to punch, claw, bite and otherwise maul every inch of the men attempting to restrain her. Carson was almost free when a tall tanned man stepped in front of her. He gestured warningly with one of the finest swords the girl had ever seen. She glanced up into his dark eyes and swallowed. Cold as steel they were and every bit as hard.

"James Norrington," she whispered almost against her will.

His eyes flickered in recognition of the name, but that was all. "Matthews, Brinker," Norrington ordered in a voice full of suppressed rage and annoyance. "Take this… girl to the brig. You heard the Captain. Now move!"

The girl in question gave a few more feeble struggles, but the wind had gone from her sails. The appearance of James Norrington was extremely disconcerting, not in the least because he had threatened her with a sword. So it was that to her extraordinary disgruntlement, Carson found herself trapped in a Spartan 8'x10' cell.

"Drat!" she exclaimed loudly once she was alone. "Gosh darn it to all thirteen hells – whether there are such things or no."

Having been in a similar – if not quite exact – predicament not too long before (give or take 2 years), the veteran prisoner set about escaping as best she knew how. Unfortunately, she could neither reach nor pick the lock, there was no bench to life the non-half-pin barrel hinges, and there was not a grenade to be found in the place. At last entirely frustrated and rather depressed, Carson leaned against the wall and slid all the way down to the floor. The one thing she could say about the cell was at least it was clean and dry, but she was still bored out of her mind. After a lengthy mental discussion, she stood and started pacing.

"So if we all come together, we know what to do. We all come together just to say 'we love you'. And if we all come together, we know what to do, we all come together just for you. Sailing, sailing, jumping' off the railing', drinking, drinking, till the ship is sinking, gambling, stealing, lots of sex appealing. Come let us sing the Sailor Song!" the teenager belted out. Stuck as she was in the brig of Davy Jones' Crocodile Machine, she did not appreciate the song as much as she normally would have.

When singing would no longer suffice, Carson moved on to dancing. She grooved her way through the Electric Slide, Ciara's 1, 2 Step, the Cotton-  
Eyed Joe, and a hippy version of the cha-cha. Nothing worked. Dancing was only really fun when one had at least a single partner. Frustrated, the girl yanked her vest off and tossed it to the floor. It hit with rather a loud thump.

Curiosity very much aroused, Carson scurried over to investigate. After a moment's searching, she withdrew three books from the inside pocket.

_Where did all these come from? _she thought, perplexed. _Oh yes. I remember now._

Smiling slightly, the teenager laid the damp tomes out to dry in strategic places around the bare cell. While she was drying things, Carson slipped out of her wet boots, stockings, sashes, and bandolier. The somewhat incompetent pirates had forgotten to relieve her of her cutlass. Oh, well. It wasn't as if it was helping her any at the moment.

With a sigh, she snatched the nearest book and began flipping through it. Her nose crinkled. By sheer accident, she had picked up was the crimson _Study in Beauty_ and opened to the page featuring note other than William Turner. Moments passed as Carson stared at his face. The photo in there was none of the many poster images from her own world. It had Will laughing openly, a sword in his hand, a dancing light in his warm brown eyes. Finally the girl turned her eyes elsewhere. She glanced down and began reading the text wrapped around his image.

_"The Caribbean – renowned for azure seas, glorious beaches, and the hot, hot men on them – has seldom hidden so great a treasure. Everyone loves the sensitive boy – the one who hurts and wants and feels – but we also need someone to protect us. In dark, brooding Will Turner, we get both. He's the guy who goes to whatever length necessary to save those he loves. With his partially open shirt, subtle muscles, and mad fencing skills, Master Turner is sexy and dangerous enough to make any female swoon._

_"Don't get swept off your feet just yet, girls. Our darling Will is spoken for. Elizabeth Swann – forward, pretty, rather unable to wear a corset properly – rescued his life when they were children. She's had his undying devotion ever since. Wedding bells eventually ring for the two, but they get caught up in a nasty catfight first. Rawr! Plenty of opportunity then to do your best to steal her fearsome fiancée. And we all know our best is no small thing._

_"So far the girl who has gotten furthest is a newbie who doesn't want to be one of us, seemingly. You'll have to get over that, sweetie. As one of the girls, the world lies at your perfectly manicured fingertips._

_"Present pursuers: Angelicque Marie Mionette Falasia Aristopha Susaria Fontaine, Midnight Stalker Foxfire Supreme Angel Crystal Molly Metamorphose, Analiwen Morwen Elleth Valar Illuvatarien._

_"Greatest Recent Success: Carson Eileen McArthur."_

Carson looked up, feeling incredibly dazed. What the heck was _her_ name doing in a book like that?

_What is MEKESSG, really? _Carson worried. _What am I?_

_You know both of those answers, _murmured her Voice of Reason. _She is what you know to be a Mary-Sue. You are… you, of course. Impractical, impulsive, insane, but always genuinely yourself_

_I know, I know. _Still, a chill swept up and down the teenager's spine as she thought. Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow a Sue? It made sense, but what did that make Carson? A Sue-in-training?

"No," she said aloud, "I refuse. I am going to be myself. There is no such thing as destiny. We all choose our own path."

"I used to think that," murmured a man's voice from the shadows. "Time has proved me wrong." Carson flinched to see Will Turner emerge from the darkness at the other end of the brig and cross the floor towards her. He halted a few inches from the iron bars. "A touch of destiny, Tia Dalma – pardon me, Calypso – once told me." The captain smiled wryly, but it did not reach his eyes in the slightest. "I see know she was right."

Carson averted her gaze. There was a raw bleakness in his face that pained her greatly. Quiet fell.

He broke it abruptly. "What are you doing here, wench?"

"Will…" Carson's gray-blue eyes were watering now. She could feel the tears poised to spill down her cheeks.

His dark brown ones watched her without pity. "You are alive. This is a ship of the dead. Why are you here?"

The girl wanted nothing so much as to bury her face in her knees and cry. It had been just hours for her since she had woken in his arms. Carson saw now he had never really loved her. He had been confused, upset, perhaps enchanted by whatever "powers" she was supposed to have or by the undoubtedly real ones of MEKESSG. It wasn't her Will loved. It never had been. It was Elizabeth all the while.

The prisoner gazed into Will's angry, demanding eyes. He glared down at her. Carson's heart simply broke. She thought it had broken before, but now knew herself to be wrong. Nothing had ever hurt as much as this. It felt like someone had stabbed her. Everything ached. Her eyes burned as she struggled to keep the tears back.

"What are you doing here?" the undead captain shouted, enraged. "Answer the question, #$ you!"

Carson stood, letting the book in her hands fall to the floor. She walked over to the man so that less than a foot was between them. Her grey eyes, usually so full of emotion and thought, were dead. For the first time, Will saw the tears threatening to dance their way down her face. He noticed her clenched hands, expressionless face, and the way she was biting her lower lip.

"What are you?" he spat furiously.

Pain shone in her eyes fleetingly, but it was quickly hidden.

"Speak!" He was shouting again. "What are you, and why are you here? Speak, strumpet!"

When she still remained silent, Will slipped a hand through the bars and slapped her incredibly hard across the face. His handprint glowed scarlet on her cheek. Carson did not respond, save for a single opalescent tear that leaked from the corner of her eye and slid along the red, irritated skin. She had locked herself away – away from the pain and torture and heartache of being around him like this.

'Say something! Talk to me, #$# it!" He slapped her other cheek. Blood blossomed from a cut on her lip.

"You say this ship is not a place for the living," she replied at last. The dead expression in her eyes was replaced by crazy pain. "That I am neither dead nor dying. Well I can fix that." In five seconds the girl had unsheathed her cutlass and placed the blade against her own throat.

Will raised an eyebrow, dark emotion in his face. Then he was though the locked door. The captain threw her to the ground, taking the cutlass away. "Bad move, wench. James!" he called, and the brig door creaked open.

James Norrington entered the cell, looking mildly interested. "Sir?" His gaze swept over the strange scene, and the former commodore took it all in stride.

"What do you think of this?"

"I cannot presume to have an opinion just yet." James watched the pinned girl struggle to breathe. "What happened?"

"It was going to kill itself," Will informed his first mate with an unnecessary push on Carson's windpipe. She coughed and choked.

"Why was it going to kill itself?"

"No idea. I was interrogating the prisoner when it went mad."

"If you want my advice, Captain, I would stop strangling the prisoner, takes its weapon, and leave it here several days to… think things over."

Will nodded and removed his foot. The two men gathered all of Carson's things, leaving her with only the clothes on her back. They even took her boots. Will produced a pair of arm and leg manacles from somewhere and chained the girl up. Without further ado, both left the cell, locking it carefully behind them. Only when she was sure they were gone did Carson finally allow herself to cry.

As anyone can tell you, crying does not solve any real problems. When at last her tears had expended themselves, Carson lay drained on the floor of the cell. Her face hurt, her neck hurt, her heart hurt, her hands hurt, her ankles hurt, and her brain hurt.

_I have_ got_ to get out of here._

And then she saw them. Lying unobtrusively in the corner was a set of old, rusty keys. A wolfish grin lit up the girl's face, thought her eyes remained sad. This was going to be a challenge, and Carson loved challenges.

Twenty minutes of doing the worm across the floor, contorting herself into strange positions the cheerleaders would envy, and twisting keys with her teeth later, Carson had her hands free. Unchaining her legs took infinitely less time. After chafing her wrists and ankles, Carson leapt up and began attempting to unlock the cell door. There were only 15 keys, and she felt sure the right one was in there somewhere. It was just a matter of trying them all.

* * *

"Forgive me for prying, Captain Turner, but what was the meaning of all that earlier?" James Norrington asked curiously. It wasn't everyday your captain attempted to strangle a teenage girl.

"She's one of _them,_" Will hissed, nostrils flaring.

"Really…" Of late, beautiful girls had shown up along the _Dutchman_'s rounds, to a one intent on kissing, hugging, touching, and/or molesting Will Turner. They were about due for another one. James' first impulse as to pin this newcomer as one of _them_, but a few details were jarringly off.

"Can't you see it?"

"So it would seem, but I really don't think so. For one, did she ever attempt to touch you?"

"Not exactly."

James cocked his head to one side. "Two, when I walked in on you… killing her, that girl could not have fought anyone. She was broken. Who is she, Captain? She seemed to actually know you."

"A bad memory," the other man whispered, half to himself.

Suddenly the upper deck erupted in screams, curses, and crashes. The men glanced at each other once, startled, before looking back up to the deck.

"Sir! There's a she-devil up here!" one of the sailors shrieked.

"What the…" Will's hand went instinctively to his belt. "James, I lost my keys."

"You lost your…" Something shattered on the other deck, and one of the burliest men aboard emitted a high, piercing shriek. "Surely not."

Instead of answering, the captain lit out for the poop deck. He took the ladder three runs at a time, James hot on his heels. There, fully clothed and armed once more, stood Carson Eileen McArthur, tossing his key ring airily from hand to hand.

"Looking for something?" she teased, cold fire in her gray eyes.

"Carson," the man spluttered against his will. "How did you… what are you…?"

"Well," Carson dithered, twirling the keys about her finger. "I'd really like to go, but your boys seem to be getting in the way." To her surprise, the escapee felt no hatred looking at Will. Her heart was wrenched by pain, regret, and loss, but not anger. She really had only herself to blame this time, as per usual.

"And how exactly do you propose to do that?"

"Sea turtles, mate."

"Uh-huh." He studied her skeptically.

"I'm serious, she mumbled, flicking her eyes to the book propped against a random barrel. The Magisterium was surprisingly simple. It contained a Gating spell that would supposedly work for the worst beginner "I just need a minute, some male contact, and a tear."

Both men exchanged the customary what-the-heck look as the girl began muttering to herself and making strange hand gestures. Carson made a quaint picture, a rather average girl with striking eyes and hair she was continuously moving away from them. Perhaps against heir better judgment, will and James allowed her to do whatever it was she was about. Every so often the blond glanced up and wrinkled her nose at them.

"All right, I'm ready," she announced after ten minutes. "Who will be my handsome male assistant?" No one spoke. "Will." Her voice was the tiniest bit entreating. "We all know you want me gone. Please help?"

"Very well," the former pirate growled, stepping forward. "What is it you want me to do?"

"Touch me – not like that, you idiot – and make me cry. Ought to be easy for you. You seem to be quite skilled at it."

"How am I to go about it?"

Carson raised an eyebrow in challenge. "I trust you can figure that one out for yourself.

Anything to get this crazy girl out of his hair. With a heavy sigh, Will strode over to Carson. "Where did you go?" he asked in a voice so quiet she alone heard him.

The girl shot him a quizzical look.

"That morning. You were gone, and no one else remembered you. I thought you were a dream. Strange, unusual, but by no means unpleasant. I stand corrected. What happened?"

"She sent me away. I did not wish to be like her, so she chose to remove me from the situation. Maybe she did me a favor. It was quite time for me to go."

A restlessness came into his eyes then. "Indeed it was – and now is." Will clutched at her arm recklessly. "Please go. Just leave. I never want to see you again. I wish you had been just a dream."

The requisite tear came then, falling freely from her eye. Carson caught it on the back of one hand and chanted softly under her breath, "Through the years Time marches on, to many places hither and yon. I stand here and weep alone. Send me, I pray thee, safely home."

She closed her book and tucked it into her vest. For one painful moment grey eyes locked with brown. Another tear followed the first as she whispered the final words of the Gating spell. "So mote it be." Carson heard the dancing calliope music and was engulfed in a wave of light.

* * *

The girl landed on her bed and promptly bounced off. She hit the floor with a stifled exclamation. Not at all thinking clearly, Carson stumbled up and migrated towards her bathroom. A half hour later when she got out of the shower, all her emotions had been corralled, and somehow she had managed to make partial sense of the recent insanity. Oh – and Carson had formatted a plan.

In the midst of ferociously scrubbing her scalp with green apple shampoo, Carson remembered the doleful parting words of the girl she despised most.

_Legolas! _she thought anxiously, cracking her elbow against the glass shower door. _She's after Legolas – again! Oh, crap. And here come the pain. Ow. Ow. If my elbows the hardest part of me, why does it hurt so dang much? Is glass harder than bone? Ow…OW!!!_

Eventually the throb in her elbow had subsided, and Carson set to plotting. Now, toweling her wet hair dry and finding her most comfortable pajamas, the schemer took some preemptory measures. First, she retrieved two pieces of her cheese pizza from the kitchen. Next, a phone call was in order. The girl rummaged in her fencing bag for her cell. Upon finding it, she punched in seven numbers and held it up to her ear. After a few rings, it took her to voicemail.

Fully expecting this, Carson plunged into her message. "Hey, Dar, this is Carson. Hope you're having fun. Um… I need to talk to you in the morning. I've got an interesting proposition to discuss. Nothing too urgent, mind. Just sommat that could be. Well… have fun and don't commit any felonies."

That accomplished, Carson logged off her laptop. She roved her bedroom putting random objects into a worn leather knapsack. A few books, a spiral notebook, pencils, underclothing, a toothbrush, a hairbrush, several packs of gum, hair-ties, various folded clothes, a wooden flute, her fully-charged iPod, and two of the three texts MEKESSG had given her found their way safely into its depths. The girl closed it with a heaving grunt and set it on the chest beneath the window.

Clambering into bed, she flipped through the book on cute guys. Every face – while not always perfect – made her smile. The pictures took her mind off Will and the next day's task. Exhausted, Carson at last shut the book, rolled over, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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**Author's Note: Told you there was a second half to your Valentine's present, didn't I? I think this is the longest chapter I've ever written. It certainly goes places and says things, and I hope you are pleased with it. **

**If not, well... my name's Authoressinhiding for a reason.**


	9. Going Back

**A/N: No anonymouse review replies this chapter... Sorry.**

**Disclaimer: I own the world!!  
Legolas: Somehow I doubt that.  
Will: Pur-lease. As if.  
Erik: Persian lasso??  
AiH: NO BOYS!! NO LASSO!! EEEK!**

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When Darren King pulled up in front of the brick McArthur home, the place appeared to be deserted. He had received Carson's message around nine-thirty that morning but upon being unable to get a hold of her decided to shower and spike up his hair before heading over.

"Carson?" the drum major called out, slamming his car door shut. He tried her cell once more. Again, no answer. Flummoxed, the brown young man set out around the house to see if she was doing something crazy in the backyard.

"Carson?" Darren kept shouting, taking exquisite care not to step on Mrs. McArthur's forget-me-nots, larkspurs, strawberry plants, and pansies. She had the weirdest flowerbeds of any woman he'd ever met. "Carson? CARSON!"

Just as he rounded the corner and came to the backyard, something happened that nearly gave him a coronary.

A strange person mounted on a dark grey warhorse leapt the paddock fence and charged towards him. The horse stopped on a dime, his muzzle inches from Darren's chest. It exhaled. The creature's warm breath sent shivers up and down the young man's spine.

"What the…" Darren slowly raised his eyes from the muscular gelding to its rider. An odd figure clothed in brown and blue, a shadowy cloak falling from its shoulders to cover the horse's haunches, it looked into the boy's face with a cold steely gaze. For a moment he was confused. Then comprehension dawned. "Carson? What…" He glanced at the horse's oddly decorated tack and the unfamiliar leather platform attached at the back. "What's going on, Carson?" Darren asked in a rather uncharacteristic timid tone.

"You will address me as Candorien Farlithe," the rider ordered in a voice alien to the one Darren knew so well. "Come." The person dismounted and took him by the hand. "There is much to do and little time to do it in."

"What's going on… Candorien?" he asked for the third time.

"We are going on a little field trip. I'll explain everything later. Oh, and from now on you answer to Torrigan Reavestone, get it?"

"Got it."

"Good." By now they had swept through the house to Carson's bedroom. Candorien plunged in. When "Torrigan" did not follow, she looked back in surprise. "Come on! Hurry."

"Um, Candorien, I'm not allowed in here, remember? Your mother has her rules."

"Yes, well, I would say this is infinitely more important than my mother's rules. A great many things are." The newly authoritative girl dragged her friend into the room. "Savvy?" Moving with rare haste, she bent down at the chest beneath her window. As she pressed it in a random spot, the lid sprang open. Quickly Candorien removed its contents. She belted a well-crafted sword at her hip, gathered a bow and quiver into her arms, and slipped two necklaces over her head. One portrayed a gold horse running on into eternity. The other was a simple amber heart with the smallest knife he had ever seen dangling from it. The girl tucked the knife beneath her sky-blue undershirt. Then for the first time she doffed her hood.

"Like my hair?"

Torrigan swallowed, hard. His friend's normally shoulder-length hair had been sliced off neatly at the chin. Before the boy could fin it within himself to react properly, however, a pile of clothes was thrust into his arms.

"Change," the girl ordered. Her tone brooked no disagreement. She escorted him out into the hall. "Now."

With a grimace, Tor shut the door in her face and set to stripping. "You know," he said casually, pulling the clothes on systematically, "you're being rather bossy, Carson. If you expect me to play along with all of this, I suggest you play nicely. Be less dramatic. I am this close to walking out on you. Cut the crap, McArthur. I got little sleep last night and do _not _appreciate this. If you want my cooperation, I advise a bit more answers. And tact. Savvy?" The young man opened the door on the last word.

"Censure duly noted, milord. Valar, you look schmexy."

"Hmmph." Darren wandered into the bathroom and checked himself out. Tight black trousers fit impeccably well and flared out at the ends. A sleeveless thigh-length tunic, also black, went over a deep royal blue undershirt. Carson had also provided him with a black belt, knee-high leather boots (again black) and a midnight blue traveling cloak. "I look dashing. Abruptness partially forgiven due to gift of fabulous clothing. Now where are we going?"

"Away."

"O-kay. And how long will we be away?"

"A while."

"Right. Of course. Are you packed and prepared for any emergencies?"

"I… think so."

"She thinks so…" he mocked. "Clothes?"

"Check."

"Toothbrush?"

"Si."

"Food?"

"Jerky and Scooby-Doo fruit snacks and my mom's sausage rolls."

"Excellent. Er… personal needs items?"

"What?"

"Please don't make me say this aloud. Fine. Feminine hygiene products?"

"Oh. No."

"Is there even the slightest chance you might need them?"

The girl thought for a moment. Then she pushed past him into the bathroom and withdrew a box of tampons from a cabinet. "I'll just go pack these," she muttered, cheeks flaming.

"You do that." Darren folded his street clothes and hid them in her closet. No need for Mrs. McArthur to see his Miss Murder shirt and tight jeans lying abandoned on her Italian tile… though come to think on it, that _would _be extremely interesting. Closing the door, the young man meandered back outside.

His friend stood beside the horse, attaching leather saddlebags to the cantle. She was talking to herself and had yet to notice she was no longer alone. Darren stopped and stepped back into the doorway to listen.

"Well, of course I don't know what I'm doing. I never do. And yes, this is a bad idea. I ought to throw everything she gave me away and never think of them again. But I'm sick of just reacting, Hasufel. I want to act. Everything I've ever known and read tells me to leave well enough alone. Yet my heart insists I do something. Darren has to come with me. I don't trust myself. Apparently I'm some kind of Sue-in-training. Okay, then. I have powers- let's not use them more than we have to. That haircut charm today – not good. Gating – probably a very bad idea. I do not want people to fall in love with me unless it's for my own sake. But how to do that?" The girl sighed in frustration and leaned her head against the gelding's neck. "How am I to go about it, Hasufel?"

"Be yourself, Car." Darren left the doorway and moved towards her. "Stop caring what people think. Stay _away_ from boys."

"Easy for you to say."

He gave her _the_ Look.

"Sorry, sorry, I take it back."

"Good. Stop fretting. Relax. Now what's this about you being a Sue?"

"Do you even know what a Sue is?"

"Not a clue, sorry. What is it?"

Carson paused before rattling off her standard definition. "Perfect, beautiful person – usually a teenage girl – with a tragic past, powers, and an unusually active sex life."

"Carson! I thought you were a good girl who went to church!"

"I am!"

"Not if you're this Sue thing."

Exasperated, annoyed, and infuriated, Carson vaulted into the saddle. "We'll talk about this later. Now get on."

"What? Where?"

"This," she jerked her head at the leather platform, "is called a pillion saddle. Here." The girl pulled her foot out of the stirrup. "Come on, Darren."

"Carson, I am losing my patience." Still, Darren took her hand, got a foot in the stirrup, and somehow managed to plant his rear on the pillion. "Now where are we going?"

Carson ignored him, instead mumbling nonsense words and drawing pictures in the air with her hands. "So mote it be," she finished.

At once a luminescent blue window appeared in the air before them. Darren went stiff.

"Hold on," the girl directed, clucking to her mount.

With stiff, robotic movements, the young man gripped her about the waist. Carson chuckled. One hand on the neck of the horse, she slowly guided him to the huge window. Hasufel walked on until his nose touched the undulating, shimmering light.

"Take it away, baby," she murmured, squeezing his sides with her calves.

Hesitantly, Hasufel picked up one hoof and placed it through the window. Next he shoved his nose in. Suddenly the gelding was galloping through. For a moment his passengers felt a freezing chill and saw only a blue haze. Then they were riding at a breakneck pace along a narrow dirt track surrounded by green fields.

Candorien breathed in and out. She sat taller. The gelding tossed his head and whinnied. Even Torrigan, who did not much like horses, smiled. This was a beautiful country, even though the outlines of jagged mountains loomed stark against the horizon. But he was still awaiting answers.

"Carson…" he began but found he could not go on. This girl in front of him was not Carson. She was that strange name she had used earlier. He remembered it now, remembered her freshman year when Sally Granger and Rachel Terazzio had always called her something that made the odd little girl smile. Then Sally had moved, and Rachel's parents sent her to a charter school, and no one had used the name in years. "Candorien. Where the heck are we? And what's going on?"

Candorien slowed the horse and twisted herself around to look at him. She dreaded explaining, feared he would think her mad. But some secrets are too great for one person alone. The equestrian sighed. "Remember those 'comas' I went into a couple years ago? You didn't know me then."

"I heard of it." The young man kept his face expressionless. Was Little Miss Elusive about to reveal hidden information?

"Truth is," she went on, facing forward again, "I wasn't really in a coma. I was… here."

"Ah, yes. And where is 'here' exactly?"

"Well, we're somewhere in Middle-earth, but I must admit I'm not entirely sure where."

"Middle-earth? As in elves and hobbits and the Ring of Doom? _That _Middle-earth?"

"Yes, that Middle-earth."

"Heh." He promptly keeled over and fell off the horse. Fortunately, they were moving at a walk. Candorien shrieked and half-leapt, half-fell to the ground. Panicking, she rushed to her friend's side.

"D'Arvit!" she swore. There was a sizable lump on the boy's forehead, and he was out cold. "Hasufel, get your bony rump over here!"

The horse looked at her, snorted, and trotted off in the other direction. Candorien sat there, torn for a moment. Cursing fate, herself, and Hasufel, she chased after the runaway.

"Get back here, you recreant nag!" the girl shouted, panting.

Ignoring her, the horse sped up to a canter.

"Hasufel, please!" After a few furlongs, Candorien stopped. She couldn't leave Darren, even if that meant losing all their supplies. Furious, she spun on a heel and ran back to the prone boy. He was beginning to come around. The girl slapped his cheeks gently and pulled him into a sitting position. At last he came to completely.

Darren stared up at her blankly for several moments. Slowly realization dawned upon his face. "Carson," he mumbled, looking into her grey eyes, "I think it's time you gave me an explanation."

Smiling in relief that he was okay, she seated herself beside him and began to talk.

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, it isn't very long. Hopefully you found parts you liked and are willing to forgive those you didn't. I plan on updating soon. The boys have returned, but now they want to tapdance on my stomach. And of course they choose the sore spot left from being yanked across the cafeteria table on Thursday. No, Erik, you cannot put your foot there!! As always, reviews are appreciated, and help with my dancing denizens would be muchly appreciated.**


	10. Interception

**Disclaimer: I own nothing besides Will, Erik, and Legolas, and they contest even that fact.**

**A/N: I am so SORRY about not updating. Feel free to attempt to eviscerate me with random pointy objects. I would not advise actually doing so, however, as said contesting pets might throw a hissy fit.**

* * *

Two hours passed before she finished speaking. About a half hour into her tale, Hasufel meandered back and stood dejectedly beside her. Carson talked almost as much with her hands as her voice, so Darren reached out and caught the gelding's dangling reins. He listened intently as the horse's mistress wove a picture for him with her words. Almost he heard the ring of words as they were drawn, the frightened neighing of horses in the night, and the low, grumbling tones of a fire-spirit. A great deal of it was far-fetched, and he would not put it past Carson (or Candorien) to stretch the truth just a tad. He could not deny, however, the sincerity in her eyes or the emotion in her voice. She _wanted _him to believe her, wanted it so badly he found himself being convinced by her intensity.

When at last the girl stopped, she was emotionally drained. Candorien collapsed across the road and looked up at the blue sky. Darren watched her a minute more then rose, gesturing for her to follow.

"Where are you going?" she asked, jumping up.

"If this is Middle-earth, let's go do something. You say you have to rescue Legolas. While I doubt he needs a teenage girl rescuing him, and the whole thing is _very _melodramatic, we should start as soon as possible. Besides, I'm thirsty, and you forgot to fill the bladder-looking thing."

The girl snorted; he had a point.

"So where are we? You know this place far better than I ever will, like as not. Where are we, where are we headed, and what will there be to eat when we get there?"

She pursed her lips. "To be honest, I have no idea where we are. Not the Pelennor – we'd see the Rammas, Minas Tirith, and the Tower of Ecthelion. Maybe Lebennin or Rohan. Or the Shire."

Darren groaned. "Do you at least have a map?"

"Somewhere." She dashed over to the horse and rummaged in one of the saddlebags, finally withdrawing a wrinkled, folded map. "It won't tell us where we are, though."

"Then we follow this road, find someone, and _ask_ them where we are. Come on, Carson, dog food." Quietly clucking to the horse, Darren strode off along the dirt road. His understanding of the circumstances was rather limited, but sitting and doing nothing was not in his nature. And if they continued on, eventually they would either come to some house or get horribly lost and die in the wilderness. Not altogether a wholly pleasant situation. He yanked on the reins again. "Keep up, dog food."

"Stop calling my horse dog food!"

"Hurry, Carson, or dog food and I will leave you."

Her good-natured grumbling continued even after the girl caught up. Carson caught hold of her gelding's bridle. A light, bantering conversation ran back and forth between the two teenagers. There were many things Darren wanted explained, and Carson was glad for any excuse to get her mind off the business at hand. Being lost did not sit well with her.

"So what exactly is the plan, milady?" Darren asked after several leagues. Over the course of the last few, he had gradually rolled up his shirtsleeves past his elbows, tied Hasufel's reins to his belt and commandeered Carson's sword. She strolled behind boy and horse, smiling ironically. For all his professed dislike of the creatures, Darren and Hasufel were getting along quite well.

"I _think_ we shall go to Minas Tirith as soon as I get my bearings, but maybe not. It depends on the circumstances."

The young man rolled his eyes. It was a typical Carson non-answer, which masqueraded as one but was really nothing more than speculation and spoken thoughts. "Thanks, love."

"Anytime."

The afternoon passed with inane babble, random singing, and occasional outbursts of fencing. As they only had one sword betwixt the two of them, this last activity was rather difficult. Eventually the elder of the pair noticed a stave on the road's shoulder, and they practiced blocking. Though she failed to realize it, Candorien was being keenly watched by her companion. He had to observe this new change in her, and he wondered at it. Always energetic, Candorien was strangely exuberant. She seemed at peace now and more herself. She shocked him with a few riding tricks he had never seen before. Confidence shone in her eyes. Something was definitely different since they rode through the portal-thing.

Gradually the sun danced overhead, making its merry voyage to the West. The world darkened. Streaks of orange, scarlet, and violet filled the sky. Their long, twisted shadows trailed out behind them. Parched though he was, Darren began to yawn excessively and complain of hunger pangs. Exhausted, Candorien leaned against Hasufel's shoulder.

"Where on earth can we be?" she mumbled to herself. "Nearly a full day's walk and not a sign of anybody. No inns, farms, or towns. No streams any closer than a league off the road – and yet the country is green and growing. No beasts or crops. Just pleasant quiet country with a few flocks of birds and a few squirrels and rabbits. A cross between prairie, meadow, and tilled fields. Where the ruddy heck are we?" She sighed and ground her teeth for a short while. Hasufel pricked his ears up and glanced at her with a one dark brown liquid eye. At last the girl turned to her friend. "Darren, m'dear… I think we shall have to camp out somewheres tonight. We have left it quite late and really ought to find a place immediately."

"Finally!" he groaned. "I've been dying for you to say that. Been longing for it the last hour and a half. We really need to find a stream, though."

Suddenly Hasufel tossed his head and took off at a canter. Still attached to the reins, Darren was dragged along. After chuckling helplessly for a moment, Candorien gave chase. Even when she caught back up and got hold of the gelding, he continued on, cutting through the green meadows and forested patches. Five minutes late, the motley crew of humans and horses arrived at a small, bubbling stream. Hasufel jerked to a halt and began to drink.

Panting, Darren untied himself with hasty, shaking fingers. He dropped to one knee beside the horse and scooped water into his cupped hands. Shaking her head, Carson took the water bottle off the cantle and filled it upstream of the drinking males.

"Guys, that's nasty," she observed after chugging half the bottle.

Both ignored her. "Thank you, dog food," Darren murmured when he was satiated. "How did you do that?"

"Rohirric warhorse – extremely smart-alecky, clever, and loyal to a fault."

"So do we camp here?"

The girl looked about. A few trees for shelter, enough open space to set up a few bedrolls, plenty of forage for the horse. "Mmm… yeah. Give me those reins."

Humming a soft, strange melody under her breath, she set about the methodical task of removing his tack. Bridle, saddle, blanket, saddlebags, and pillion she piled at the base of a tree, then the teenager hobbled and picketed her horse. Darren watched in silence as she unfolded a pair of bedrolls, kindled a small fire, and rummaged in her bag for food. The two seated themselves on the bedrolls and munched away on jerky, fruit snacks, and sausage rolls.

"So what do we do tomorrow?"

Carson sighed. "Try to find civilization. And when we do, love, there's no more 'Darren' and 'Carson'. We have to be 'Torrigan Reavestone' and 'Candorien Farlithe'. She stretched her wide feet, etched with flip-flop tan lines, and wiggled her toes in the cool grass. "Sound okay to you?"

"Torrigan? Awfully long name for a regular guy like me. Can we cut it down to Tor?"

"Tor… I like that."

"So do I, and I'll be the one using it. Am I still allowed to call you 'Car'?"

"Of course. We aren't becoming different people, even if we use other names."

"Right."

They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Candorien locked her arms about her knees. She gazed up at the stars, singing softly words he could not catch to a tune he did not recognize. Darren (or Tor, as we must needs call him) rolled onto his side and drifted off to sleep. Strange images whirled through his mind to the eerie, mournful sounds emanating from his friend's throat. Dirges and reels mated to create a sad, moving song with a quick, steady beat.

It was a war song, he realized at last. A tribute to death and slaughter and victory. It praised life and left the listener feeling both joy _and_ sorrow. It was, Tor reflected just before sleep took him, rather like Carson.

* * *

Morning dawned far too quickly. The teenagers scrambled up and broke camp. The day's first conflict reared its ugly head almost immediately.

"Okay, so where do we shower?"

"We don't," the girl said quickly, buckling the girth on Hasufel with shaking fingers.

"Wait… what? We have to shower. I need to get clean."

She sighed and began slinging on saddlebags. "I'll take Hasufel on a quick run. You have fifteen minutes. Please be quick." Candorien plunged a hand into one of the bags and pulled out a mesh bag containing soap, shampoo, conditioner, and a razor. Tor caught it easily and nodded his thanks.

When the girl returned, he was relatively clean and happy. The company wandered back to the road and rode off. After a bit of pleading and wheedling, Tor managed to free himself of the pillion and stick her on it. The leagues passed easily, eaten up by Hasufel's long stride. Few words were spoken at first; early as it was, both riders kept nodding off. Around midmorning they decided on a cover story. Candorien, a young gentlewoman, was being sent to whatever city was nearest to further her education. Tor was a servant employed by her family to ensure she reached the place safely and stayed out of trouble. It was then Tor insisted the girl change into a dress, slippers, and other ladylike attire. She cursed him, his children, and all his future lovers but eventually acquiesced.

Sitting sidesaddle on the pillion in a tightly fitted somberly appropriate dark blue gown, she made a pretty picture. Her language, however, was not nearly so nice. Candorien muttered curses, swore using words Tor had never heard before, and insulted his lineage. Having successfully gained both the upper hand and her sword, Tor endured the abuse for the short while it lasted. The girl quickly tired of it and scooted forward on the pillion. She wrapped her arms about his waist and nestled her head on his shoulder, mumbling instructions about watching Hasufel. So it was Tor rode alone, his friend lost in a deep sleep, when trouble came.

* * *

Candorien woke to the sound of harsh laughter. Startled, she sat up with a jerk. Time stopped as she took in her surroundings. Rather than being perched on Hasufel's back, she was sitting on the ground in some forest clearing. It was now late in the afternoon. Tor stood in the middle of a small circle of tall, green clad men. They were the ones laughing. The young man looked haughtily bored, but she who knew him so well could see the panic welling up in his dark eyes.

The laughing ceased, and the tallest man stepped forward and began to speak. Candorien could understand nothing of what he said save a few words only: Haradrim, Minas Tirith, Anduin, and Elessar. Glancing up at her friend's nervous face, she realized he was in the same predicament. Neither of them could comprehend whatever language the man was speaking.

Nearly panicking herself, the girl rummaged in her memory for the incantation of a gift-of-tongues spell. Recalling it at last, she hissed words under her breath, ending in "so mote it be."

"So tell me why we should bother with you any further, you filthy son of Harad? Why should we take you to our king? Why not just kill you now?" The man was shouting ferociously.

Candorien stood then. She spread her hands out, palms up, to show she meant no harm. Moving quickly, praying no one would hear the tremors in her voice, the teenager approached the circle.

"Why so fearsome, milord?" Her voice was kind, gentle, but firm. "Why do you trouble my manservant?" Tor looked even more confused. She silently performed the language spell on him as well. "What has he done to engender your anger?"

She was in amongst them now, and moments later her fingers found Tor's wrist and clutched it desperately. Could she bluff her way out of this? Was there enough deception in her to get them somewhere safe? Candorien had to focus on the words. Even with the help of magic, she had to consciously choose to speak Westron. It was beginning to give her a bad headache.

"Your manservant? What would a proper lady like you be doing with a boy from Harad?"

Candorien considered the situation before answering. Darren, half-Cherokee by blood, had the high cheekbones, brown skin, and dark hair that were his heritage. Until now, the thought had never crossed her mind, but his skin would of course provoke controversy in a world of white-skinned Men.

_I'm sorry, love,_ she thought apologetically. _I ought to have planned things better._

"A set of specific circumstances I have neither the patience nor desire to relate here. I give you my word he is as trustworthy as any Numenorean you could wish."

Tor glanced uncomfortably at Candorien. He squeezed her fingers with his own. There would be some major explaining later, no matter what her Ladyship wanted.

"Who are you to act so boldly? You are but a girl." Candorien was acutely aware of her youth and relative immaturity, in comparison with these men. There was no need for them to rub it in. "Why should your word mean anything to us?"

The girl turned to give her friend an encouraging smile. She crossed her eyes and rolled them simultaneously. Then she looked back at the green-clad stranger and folded her arms across her stomach. This was a risky gamble, but one she had to take. Hours of watching Pirates movies, days of associating with Barbossa and Elizabeth, years of insolence and impudence had prepared her for this. Candorien laughed lightly, and for once it did not sound forced. "Because," she grinned evilly, "my name is Candorien."

The clearing burst into complete and utter chaos.

By the time everyone stopped shouting and quieted down, Candorien's bad headache had grown to a heavy migraine. She seated herself beside Tor and massaged her temples, ignoring the spluttered explanations and apologies of the Rangers, as she now knew them to be. Tor took the initiative. He smoothed tempers and was as polite and sociable as necessary.

"If you could just point us our way, we shall depart and stop troubling you," he said calmly. That had been a few extremely nerve-wracking hours, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. But Candorien looked dead, and they simply had to get away before she passed out.

"Of course," one of the men stuttered. "We had no idea you were the companion of the Lady Candorien. Her name is known among us, though her face is not."

"You shall know her better hereafter. Now, which was to Minas Tirith?"

Exhausted, the girl leaned her head against his knee and closed her eyes. Her head just hurt _so _badly.

Tor sighed heavily. He really had no idea what was going on, but from what he remembered, Minas Tirith would be a good place to look for Legolas and to make concrete plans. The young man half-listened to the directions, then he pulled Candorien to her feet and retrieved the horse.

"Hold still, dog food," he hissed, boosting the dead weight that was the teenage girl across the pillion. Tor mounted and waited while Candorien settled herself. She was using him as a pillow again. "Pardon her," Tor told the Rangers. "My friend is perhaps over fond of sleep."

"So we see," their leader laughed. "Take care of Candorien. The King will be exceedingly glad to have news of her."

"Oh, I will." With a smile and a nod, he kneed the gelding out of the clearing and down the path that would eventually take them to the city.

**

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**

Author's Note: I beg your forgiveness, and I offer this chapter as a small token of my affection and desire to _**write**_** my fingers off. I am returning to the proverbial grindstone, dear readers. And I shall not leave you so long again.**

**Sincerely,**

**AiH**


	11. Dramatic Entrances

**Slayer3 - We're working on the Sueishness. Donations of cash help.**

**Celebrytie Aris Channas - Luckily for you, you don't have to wait much longer.**

**Disclaimer: I own Darren. He lives in my closet... well, no he doesn't. Erik does, though!**

* * *

"We clear yet?" the girl demanded of his shoulder fifteen minutes later.

"Yes," Tor sighed, and he stopped the horse. "I hate these freaking things. You steer."

The young man jumped off Hasufel. Unprepared for the loss of her pillow, Candorien tumbled sideways off and hit the ground. "Ow." She straggled to her feet. "Good Lord, I have to wake up. We're in Middle-earth now. I am on my own. No Aragorn to baby-sit the little girl." She kept on talking to herself in increasingly distressed tones.

Finally Darren had enough. "Car-SON!" he shouted. "Pull yourself together. We are 20 miles south of Minas Tirith. I'm sure you can find someone to tell you what to do. But in case you haven't noticed, I nearly _died_ back there, and I want to know what the heck just happened!"

"I was asleep," Carson growled. She did not appreciate his tone. "You tell me."

"I was just riding along, doing what you said, when dog food started acting funny. Next thing I know, I'm surrounded by greenies with suspicious eyes and threatening voices. They haul us off to that clearing thing and start interrogating me. Now explain all that, Mistress of Mystery."

"They thought you were from Harad, the country to the south. Gondor and Harad manage to get along, but it's a half-hearted thing. Harad would attack, if they dared. Gondor does not wish for war, but they don't exactly follow the Savior's counsel to 'love thy neighbor', either."

So why do they take me to be of Harad?"

She gulped, then answered frankly, "Your skin."

Tor glanced down at his brown forearm. "What? Oh, I see. So even perfect lovely Middle-earth judges others by their appearances? Figures." The girl chose not to answer. He sighed and continued. "So why did they back off?"

"I told you. Apparently I'm some big shot here. No idea why," she said with false modesty.

Darren set his jaw stubbornly. It was time to do something he was not overly fond of but which seemed to become increasingly necessary with every passing moment: set his dear friend on her tail.

"Why are we doing this again?"

"I told you. MEKESSG is after Legolas."

"And how do you know this?"

She launched into her tale of the Caribbean. Halfway through, Darren stopped her. "You're a Sue," he announced calmly. "They're corrupted you already."

"WHAT??"

"You kissed Will Turner."

"So? Every girl fantasizes about that."

"Not every girl. Those with taste do not. Back to the point, you and Master Turner kissed not once, not twice, but three separate times! No girl besides Elizabeth Swann does that. _AND, _to make matters even worse, you slept with him!"

"I did not!" Candorien gasped, aghast. "I would never do such a thing."

"Well, in the implicative sense of the phrase you didn't, but in the technical sense you did. Form the many times you've force-fed me those movies, I doubt Will Turner would be romantically inclined towards anyone at all save Elizabeth. Why should he kiss you or do any of this? I love you, Car. You're my soul-sib. But you _aren't _Elizabeth Swann. Beautiful, yes. Funny, yes. Caring, yes. Still, not a Kiera Knightley-clone. So why would he be all gaga over you? It makes no sense.

Darren shook his head for emphasis, "Also, all these people liking you, getting along with you. No offense, but you _do _have a highly controversial personality. You're quick to anger, speak without thinking, and you can be oh-so-very blunt. Carson, you are no angel. Without question a good person, but not perfect. Guys will – and do – like you, but Will Turner is lost in the throes of a torturous twu wub. I can see the two of you eventually becoming friends, but nothing more, and not so soon. What else can explain this but the Sue working within you?"

Carson blinked and stared at her friend. Where had all this passion and fervor come from? He looked down at her, a strange light in his dark eyes. Tor waited, she knew, for her usual furious outburst. However, too many of his words had struck home. She hadn't done anything intentionally where Will and her powers were concerned, but that absolved neither her nor them. Something could have been done without either her knowledge or desire; MEKESSG might have even had a hand in things. Moreover, Carson knew at heart that she ought to have stayed away from him, offered nothing but her friendship, and _never_ have let herself be alone with him.

"You're right," she admitted in a quiet, deeply pained voice. "I have acted as one of them. But what can I do?"

"Make mistakes. Don't use any more of the spells than you have to. Here," he went on with sudden inspiration, "give me those books She gave you."

Darren ignored her sighs of reluctance and took the texts. He placed them in the saddlebag designated for his use. Then he reached out and took the girl's hand. A pleading glance gleamed in her grey eyes. She looked young, soft, and utterly unlike the Carson he knew.

"I don't want to be one of them, Dar," Carson whispered. "Help me."

"You won't be," he replied with a serious smile. "I won't let you. Now we really ought to get a move on, my poor puffed-up popinjay." The young man helped her into the saddle. Hasufel followed good-naturedly as Tor took the reins and strode off down the road, humming a hip-hop song under his breath. Every now and then he paused to chuckle at the strange noises his friend made as she tried to ride sidesaddle.

* * *

It was sundown when they rode through a mighty gate of mithril and steel into Minas Tirith, the Tower of Guard. Candorien smiled as her friend's eyes grew to the size of cantaloupes.

"Wow," he muttered, gazing up at the huge expanse of white stone and grandeur. "We certainly aren't in Kansas anymore."

"We never were," she replied smoothly, rearranging her cloak with great care. "It's time to act, Tor. You've got this thing, love. Let's do it."

Hooded, booted, and cloaked, riding gloves on his fingers so no one could peer at his skin, the young man chirruped to Hasufel and guided him carefully through the streets at Candorien's whispered directions. She supplied him with half-forgotten passwords and smiled insipidly at passersby. Only her tight grip on Tor's waist betrayed her true feelings.

_What's going to happen when I get there? _Candorien wondered, heartsick and nearly nauseous with inner turmoil. _Will they care for me still, or am I nothing to them now?_

Slowly they ascended through the winding streets. Dusk came and blanketed the city in her gentle arms. Mothers called children home; playtime was over. Pedestrians looked in interest at the tall grey horse and his strange passengers. Curious murmurings went before and after them. Horses were not oft seen in the city. One with riders like these – one a dark shadow, the other somber and quiet – was quite unheard of.

"Where are we going?" Tor whispered as they passed their fifth gate. He was hungry and tired and stiff from riding most of the day. Even as he spoke, his stomach grumbled loudly.

"The citadel. You don't think it's too late, do you?"

"I do not know the customs of this place. It cannot be beyond eight o'clock. I should _think_ you would be safe."

"Whew." She gave him the last password, and they passed the guard. Suspicious looks followed at their heels. Candorien pressed her lips together until they hurt. Surely word would have reached those in the citadel of their foreign visitors by now. Her stomach was a mass of quivering nerves. Somehow, it was so much harder to be confident and in control without the agonizingly arrogant figure of MEKESSG strutting imperious before her.

_Funny. I always hated her. Now I'm not sure how to proceed without her. Life is _so_ full of irony._

Suddenly she was laughing at herself. Ironic the world might be, but her decisions were still up to her. Why should she fear the reactions of people who had always helped her?

Tor looked round at the chuckling girl and shook his head. Carson was an odd creature, full of caprice and mood swings. He shifted himself in the saddle and adjusted the reins with leather-clad fingers. Truth be told, he would be extremely happy when they were off the horse. The young man did not see the point of this whole business. Legolas, he reasoned, was an elf and ought to be able to take care of himself. There was really no use in Carson's haring off to the rescue. It was a deed of pure, well-intentioned pigheadedness.

Soon, but not soon enough, they reached the citadel. A guard shouted, "Halt! Who are you, and what is your business here?"

"We are travelers," Candorien intoned in a voice lower and throatier than her own. "We wish to speak with your king."

"This is not the hour of petitioners," replied the guard. His livery was of sable and mithril. Gray eyes gleamed cold and bright beneath a great winged helm. He looked them up and down, in doubt as to the merit of what he saw.

Tor swung down and caught Candorien as she slid off, already running her mouth. "We have not come to beg a boon. All we wish is to see the King's face and have a few words with him."

"The King Elessar is at meat," the Man said reluctantly.

"All the more reason for you to take us to him, for we are sore famished."

Darren allowed himself a mental snort. This stately declaration was a far cry from his friend's usual "Darren, I'm hungry!" which was often emphasized by an undignified rumble from the region of her digestive system.

The guard stared at them for a while longer, then at last he came to a decision. "Very well," he sighed. "But you must leave your weapons – and the horse – with me."

"My pleasure." Tor thrust the reins into the guard's head. Candorien watched squeamishly as he gave her sword and bow into the man's keeping. She said nothing about the dagger down her dress. Things were on a need-to-know basis, and as far as she was concerned, he did not need to know. Tor shot her a curious look, but she ignored it. Showtime was approaching. Her entrance had to be just right. More drama was not necessary. It was of far greater importance that they see her and remember her kindly.

"Follow me," barked the guard. He led them through stately pillared halls of stone with nary a word. Candorien traipsed lightly after. Holding the language spell was getting easier and easier. She was moments away from meeting old friends dear to her heart, and Darren was there to keep her out of grave trouble. Her heart and mind brimmed with confidence that all would soon be well. Things would work out. They would all see.

By the time the party of three arrived at a heavy wooden door with silver ornamentation, she was collected and ready to go. "How shall I announce you?" whispered the guard politely.

Carson took the bit in her teeth. Smiling sweetly, she answered in a voice that made Tor go weak at the knees with dread, "Don't."

The teenager threw the door open and barged in. She scanned the long room for a second, calculating eyes sweeping the long tables. Then she was striding quickly to the dais. The girl curtsied with more grace than her friends would ever have thought possible.

"Mae govannen, Elessar," she said smoothly, looking Aragorn straight in the eye.

The King stood slowly, his face a study in astounded amazement. "Candorien," he spluttered, gazing down at her in disbelief. "What are you doing here? I thought you were home to stay." His tone and manner indicated that this would have been a much more satisfactory set of circumstances.

"I was. Complications arose, ensued, and are in the act of being overcome."

"Minx," Aragorn muttered under his breath. Then, louder, "I see. Is there, er, any specific purpose to your visit?"

"None that I am free to discuss at the moment."

He raised an eyebrow. "Caerdor."

A young man of about twenty-three scurried over from the shadows. "Yes, my lord?"

"Take this young lady to my study. I shall be with you presently."

"This way, milady," said Caerdor.

"One moment." She turned to call over her shoulder. "Tor! Come on!"

Mortified, Tor slunk in through the wooden door and made his way to her side. The young man kept her eyes on the floor. Could Candorien make any more of a scene? He instantly regretted such a thought. She could and would make as much of a dramatic mess as required to get her desires. He followed her from the hall, grateful she wasn't making any more of a ruckus.

"Thank you, Caerdor," Candorien murmured as they were shown into Aragorn's study. "You are too kind."

He nodded, face carefully blank, and left.

Candorien sank into one of the leather armchairs, propping her feet on the heavy oaken desk. She ran a hand through her freshly shortened hair. "Sit." The hooligan gestured wildly with one hand. "We have about half an hour or so. He cannot leave too dreadfully soon without insulting anyone. Politics, you know."

The young man dropped into a chair beside hers. "Carson," he groaned, "what are you on about?"

"Tor, my love, I am simply going to turn all this into the hands of a sensible adult."

"Don't lie. You never come clean – not even to me."

"Tor… don't be like that."

"I'm only speaking the truth." He sighed and put his head in his hands. "Carson, I'm in the dark. I am in unfair territory. If you want me to help you, I first need your help."

"Very well." The girl took her feet off the desk and slid to the floor. She sat cross-legged. In her best storyteller's voice, she intoned, "In the beginning there was the One, called Eru and Illuvatar. He is the Great One, the Creator. The only true God. But… he had a plan, and a song. Lesser beings there were. Ainur was their collective name. Some were greater – these eventually became the Valar. Other, lesser beings were known as Maiar…"

Time seemed to stop as she spoke. Harsh and tempestuous as her voice often was, when Candorien told a story, it was soft and sad. Everything, large and small, mattered.

* * *

The teenagers were caught completely off guard when Aragorn entered. He stood and observed them for a few minutes before making his presence known. "Ehem." The man cleared his throat.

"Aragorn!" Candorien leapt to her feet and threw her arms around him with exuberance. She clung to him like a leech, burying her face in his shoulder. Tor rose with more dignity. His eyes met Aragorn's over the girl's head. Each male surveyed the other. Tor felt himself measured against some great standard. Aragorn held him with his eyes for a long moment, then nodding, released him. Freeing himself of Candorien was not so simple.

"Gerroff me, Candorien," he grunted, pushing her shoulders back. "Let go. Please."

"Attention!" Darren called in exasperation.

"Hut!" Automatically, the teenager let go of Aragorn. Her feet snapped together, her clasped hands came up to her chin, and her eyes focused solely on Darren.

"At ease," he observed.

She relaxed.

"Impressive. Candorien, who is this?"

"My best friend in all the world, Tor Reavestone."

"It's an honor, sir," Darren said, bowing.

"No, no, the pleasure is mine, Tor – was that it?"

"Yes."

"Well. Candorien, why are you here?" Aragorn demanded. It seemed he was not going to drop the subject any time soon. "You put me off, now answer me. Why are you here?"

"Where's Legolas?"

"Candorien!"

Darren sat back in his armchair, enjoying – all right, loving – the sigh of someone else haranguing Carson for once.

"What? I seriously want to know where my friend Legolas is. Is that so wrong?"

"Not as a thought, but when you try to use it as a way of distracting your liege lord…"

"You are _not_ my liege lord," Carson sniffed, much to the amusement of her friend. Admirably spirited as the girl was, still Darren thought she might go about things with a bit more tact. Not that he was about to intercede, oh, no. Too many people were cowed and confused by his friend's insane evasive behavior. To watch an adult make her explain herself was extremely diverting.

Aragorn was not so amused. He lacked the time for a teenager's folly. "Candorien, stop playing the fool and answer me. What brings you here?"

"_She's_ back," the girl said simply, meeting the king's eyes at last.

He blanched. "Are you sure, Candorien?"

"Positive."

Aragorn paused for a moment. He took several long, steady, breaths. Darren half-rose from his chair, uncertain how to react to the tense, dramatic situation. Then Aragorn recovered himself and went on, "Where is she?"

"I'm not sure. But she's coming, and we need to be prepared."

"I see." Aragorn looked from the earnest girl to her bemused companion.

"What time is it?" Tor asked at random, tired and bored.

"Ten," Candorien replied quickly.

Unable to stop himself, the young man yawned.

"Bed. Now," Aragorn ordered. "You two need sleep. Candorien, we will discuss this in the morning. Come with me. I shall show you to your rooms." They filed from the study, Darren yawning openly now. Aragorn led them to a suite of rooms further down the hallway. "Oh, and Candorien," he added, opening the door and ushering them in, "you are confined to these rooms until further notice."

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, so it was decently long and hopefully you enjoyed it. School is going crazy right now; teachers trying to cram when there are only 11 days of school left... cruel. It's almost AiH can do to keep on top of things, especially as she is skipping class on Friday to go to the Reniassance Faire. Woot! Reviews are always welcome. You know how I love reader input. In fact, on this chapter I would ask that you answer a specific question to relieve me of my curiousity. What do you think of Darren? Should he stay around for a while or go home? **

**Your Devoted**

**Authoressinhiding**


	12. Boxers or Briefs?

**Slayer3 - Don't worry about Sueness just yet. We have a few chapters before then...**

**Celebrytie Aris Channas - Interesting view**

**Inwe - Didn't get to go yet, due to unforeseeable circumstances, but I am going the 26th.**

**krys - I'm updating!**

**k - I like Darren, too. I think I will keep him.**

**Disclaimer: I own Darren and Carson on their good days and Legolas on his bad ones. XD**

* * *

"I can't believe it! He grounded me!" Carson whined once the door had shut.

"Get over it." Tor was too busy looking around. The first room was rather empty. A partition on either side enclosed the plain, serviceable bunks with washstands and wardrobes. An upholstered bench sat beneath the lone long window. Their packs and weapons had been deposited by the door, and a fire was crackling in the grill. He snatched his things and shoved open one of the partitions. Then the young man flung himself across the bed. It was firm but far softer than the ground he'd slept on the previous night.

"I cannot believe he had the gall to ground me!" Candorien was still complaining.

"Shut it, Car," Darren groaned, closing his eyes momentarily. "It's been a long, long, day. You can get angry tomorrow. Right now I'm going to sleep."

"But, but," she spluttered.

"SHUT UP!" he roared, sitting up. "Off with the shoes, off with the belt, out of those clothes immediately!"

When she failed to comply with orders, he was up and striding over to her. Muttering curses with frightful vehemence, Tor frog marched Candorien over to her bed. The girl struggled as he pinned her down and began to remove her shoes, belt, and cloak impersonally. The moment his fingers touched the top button of her bodice, however, she slapped him away, too tired to do much more than feign indignation.

Darren returned to his side of the room, stripping as he went. By the time he reached his bed, the young man was clad only in a dark blue undershirt and his boxers. He folded the rest of his things in a neat pile on the clean stone floor, offering a chivalrous back while Carson changed.

"I'm cold," murmured a soft voice.

He turned to see his younger friend curled up in her bunk, shivering.

"Here," Tor sighed. He leaned over to grab his cloak, then draped it over her. "Now go to sleep. You know you'll be cranky tomorrow if you don't."

The girl beamed up at him and closed her eyes. Grumbling about sixteen-year-old females and their never-ending needs, Darren stalked to his own bed and tumbled in. All was peaceful, quiet, and dark. Both teenagers were asleep in five minutes.

* * *

Darren woke sometime in the midmorning. Gentle rays of sunlight streamed from the sole window. Candorien was gone, her bed neatly made, his cloak folded on the pillow with a note attached. The young man rolled out of bed and crossed the room. He retrieved the paper, scurrying back to his bed. The stone floor was _very _cold. Tor settled cross-legged on the edge of the bed and set to reading. His brown eyes flicked speedily from line to line.

_Tor – _

_Sorry I'm gone, but it was unavoidable. I got up early this morning to take Hasufel for a ride outside the city. I'm revisiting a few places of significance. I give Aragorn the whole story tonight, and I need to clear my head. So I go to ride in the fields where I was most happy. There's hot water and soap in the bathing room – it's just across the hall. If you want breakfast, I asked one of the maids to check on you every hour or so. Speak to her, and she'll take you to the kitchens. I shan't be away too long. We do have rather a lot to do today._

_Wind to thy wings – _

_Car_

Well, he was starving, but a bath sounded heavenly. Getting clean was more important than his stomach, anyways. After steeling himself to act, the boy pulled on yesterday's clothes and dashed across the hall to the bathroom. It was a large, homey chamber, divided along the walls with curtained cubicles containing washtubs and ewers of hot water. He picked one at random, undressing quickly and leaving his clothes in a folded pile just outside the cubicle.

Twenty minutes later, after falling asleep in the bath twice, he emerged, wet, wrinkly, and clean. Someone had removed his clothing and replaced it with garments of like make and style, only these were dark crimson and burnished gold. This would not have been bothersome; however, whoever had taken his clothes had also taken his boxers, leaving Darren with a pair of white linen drawers. Seriously not happy, he slid the drawers up over his thighs to his waist and tied the silken drawstring. He stared down at them in annoyed disbelief. Rolling his eyes, Tor donned the crimson pants, dark gold tunic, and scarlet sleeveless vest. Not perhaps his favorite colors, but it looked good on him anyways.

Carson was waiting for him in their room, her gray eyes brightened by the exercise and good humor. A large tray heaped with cheese, meat, pastries, a pitcher of cider, and other delectables rested on a small table at her knee. She wore tight black trousers and an emerald tunic with silver braid about the waist.

"They took my clothes," Tor complained, stalking over to her and snatching a bun stuffed with cheese and sausage.

"Well, they need to be washed, love," she replied complacently.

"You don't get it, Carson! They took _all_ my clothes."

Candorien looked up from the dagger and whetstone in her lap. "Boxers or briefs?" she inquired slyly.

A look of pure fury crossed his face. Then in a sweet tone, "I'm not entirely sure. You want to tell me?"

"Havens, no. Please, Darren. There are many sights I want to see on God's green earth before I die, but you in your skivvies is _not _one of them."

"I am insulted." The first pasty devoured, he took up another and began to munch. "I thought you thought I was _hawt_."

Carson groaned at the remembrance of truth or dare games on the band bus, late night conversations when she was so punch drunk _anything_ could have been coaxed out of her. She was quite lucky Darren _did_ like her and respect her and have some semblance of honor where she was concerned.

"I believe I used the word 'handsome'. There are very few people I want to see in their underwear, and having seen you in yours" – more band bus recollections – "I do not feel the need for a repeat experience." A screech from the knife and whetstone in her hands raised the hair on both their necks.

Darren made a face at her, and she blew him a raspberry. Immaturities out of the way, he sat down beside her on the bench and inquired as to her ride. She answered far more sedately than was her wont, but he was as yet too flummoxed by the boxer incident to take proper notice.

The pile of food was greatly diminished when a knock sounded on the door. Two willowy figures entered, both camouflaged in various shades of green and brown. One had hair of gold, startling green eyes, and a longbow which he carried in one long-fingered hand. The other, grey-eyed, dark-haired, and bearing a sword, followed at his heels, an eager look on his angular face. Carson glanced up and froze.

"Legolas!" she shrieked, pelting across the room and tackling the blond. He went down with an oomph, obviously unprepared for 120+ pounds of overexcited teenage girl to hit him in the stomach. Candorien leapt up, oblivious, and attacked the other figure with a squeal of "Char!" Char, whoever he was, fell just as hard as his companion. The girl rose, beaming. "I am so glad to see you!"

"We noticed," remarked Legolas with a wry smile. He picked himself up gingerly. Tor suddenly realized what these "Men" were. As Char brushed a lock of hair back from his face, wincing at the movement, the young man saw the tips of his pointed ears. Of course he should have known they were Elves. The loss of his boxers was strangely affecting his psyche.

Elves were handsome, he reflected. They reeked of great good looks, but there was something unearthly about them. He was strangely reluctant to interact with the fey creatures. Theirs was a world apart from his, and he did not quite believe they ought to mix.

"I thought you might," Candorien was saying to the Elves. She was incredibly happy, bordering ecstatic. "This is my friend Tor." The girl took his hand and yanked him over to the little group. "Tor, this is Legolas Thranduilion," the blond elf inclined his head, "and Berenglorion, son of something or other." Here the darker elf looked resigned. "Gentlemen, I hope you all become the best of friends, always remember me, and never eat roast boar before dancing."

The three of them simply stared at her and blinked.

"What?"

"You haven't changed at all, have you?" Berenglorion inquired.

"Nope."

"It was a rhetorical question, Candorien," the elf sighed.

"So, Tor," Legolas was all courtesy and small smiles, "how long have you been with our mutual thorn-in-the-side?" His voice made it clear he was speaking solely of platonic things.

"I've known Candorien for two years. I met her shortly after her last visit here."

"Ah." The elf glanced over to where Berenglorion was debating with the sixteen-year-old girl. They were arguing the merits of coursers versus palfreys with Carson unsurprisingly taking the side of the underdog. Legolas smiled as he watched them, a true smile that glowed deep in his eyes as well as on his face. "She is not quite the same," he observed, too soft for any but Tor to hear. "Something about her is off. She is not so unfettered as she was then. Has anything happened…" he paused, his eyes reminiscent up a cat's as they flicked up to Darren's once, then quickly away, "that I need to know about?"

"You're concerned," Tor remarked before he could catch himself.

Legolas laughed dryly. "And you wonder at it. Yes. Well, friend of my friend, we knew Candorien when she was but a child. She still is," he added in an undertone. "She has provided annoyance, comic relief, and the occasional rescue. We respect and wish to protect her. So…" he shrugged, looking awkward.

Finding a shrugging elf incredibly humorous, the young man was forced to wait a moment before replying. "If anything untoward happens, or something goes wrong, I _will_ inform you." His voice was low and sincere; it betrayed his laughter of a moment before not at all.

"Thank you." Legolas was visibly relieved. "She gets into trouble, that girl."

"I heard that!" the girl in question squealed before resuming her conversation with Berenglorion.

Tor and Legolas shook their heads at one another, and just like that, they were friends.

"Goodness you two must have been hungry," the elf observed with more wry amusement than politeness. He indicated the depleted tray of food with a nod of his head.

"We're teenagers." Darren realized belatedly how defensive that sounded and blushed.

"Men – and youths – do tend to eat a great deal."

"Don't you?"

"No. I rarely get hungry, let alone famished. My great-uncle, now, he was a different story."

"Oh?"

"Falnir ate as much as any Dwarf or Man. He could convince greater quantities of food and wine while retaining his wits than anyone my father Thranduil has ever met. I think perhaps his deeds at the table were surpassed by some of the Pheriannath – Hobbits to you. They consume more food, drink, and pipeweed than any other creatures under the sun." He eyed Tor and the plate of food speculatively. "You could hold your own against them for a while, I think." Then, looking away, the elf turned to Candorien. "Where is _She_?" he asked in haunted tones.

The others glanced at him in surprise. His fine angular features were suddenly emaciated and gaunt. A deadly seriousness rang in his voice and lingered behind his eyes. Legolas was in great earnest, and Berenglorion and Candorien looked thunderstruck at it. The latter moved to his side. She took his hand, wet her lips, and said, "I do not know – yet."

"But she _is_ coming?"

"There can be no doubt of that, mate."

Legolas embraced her for a moment impulsively. I am quite glad to see you, my friend, but if you bring her at your heels perhaps it would have been better had you stayed away."

Candorien was hurt. "If you remember, my prince, she brings me. I do not bring her."

"All the same," Berenglorion interceded quickly, "let us all take great precautions that we do not aid the witch, when she does make her presence known."

"Of course," the other two murmured.

Darren wondered at it – and them – but said nothing. He could see Carson had liked both of the elves before and was quite likely to "fall in love" again. He wished fervently she could be locked away from all males, or have her hormones fixed. A girl like Carson gadding about falling in love with random people added more troubles to an already complicated life.

"I have an idea," the dark-haired elf was saying in a not well concealed ploy to relieve the tension. "Why don't we all go on a tour of Minas Tirith? Many things have changed since you were last here, Candorien."

She shot him a random baleful look. "Char, be silent. I have no desire to see the city. Hasufel and I went out exploring this morning."

"Well, there is no need to be rude," he replied, very much confused.

Something angry and pained shone in her grey eyes fleetingly, but it was soon gone. A heavy silence fell.

"Why do you call him Char?" Tor wondered at last. Candorien was not yet in a mood. If she could be diverted, all would soon be well. "It makes no sense as a nickname."

A wolfish grin lit her solemn features. "He was wearing all green the day I gave it to him," she reminisced. "I thought Chartreuse, which is no guy's name, so I shortened it to Char."

"So that's it," muttered Legolas to himself.

Berenglorion looked affronted. The young man shrugged. It was as good an example of how his friend's mind worked as any he could have wished.

"Anything else I can do for you gentlefolk now that I've revealed one of my few precious secrets? Gollum, Gollum."

Legolas massaged his temples furiously. "That is it," he declared. "I am going for a walk. Tor, you are coming with me. 'Char', you will stay here and interrogate her ladyship." He whirled on his heel and headed for the door, where he turned. "Come on, boy."

Shrugging his shoulders, Tor followed. A walk with the eerily handsome Legolas? He could think of worse things to do.

Once the door shut firmly behind them, Candorien turned to Char. "So," she began slowly, how have things been while I was gone?"

Rather than answer, he gathered her into his arms for a bone-crushing embrace. "I missed you, little one."

Peace came into her face then. "And I you."

The elf smiled as he released her. "No one acts the way you do, heathen girl."

Candorien laughed softly. "Proud of it, mellon nin."

"You are, as ever, completely unique."

She bowed slightly. "Praise indeed. How have you been in my absence?"

"Legolas is quieter. More reflective. He thinks a great deal and keeps most of that to himself. Only with that Dwarf is he completely open, I believe." Berenglorion was firmly disapproving.

"You dislike Gimli, I take it?"

The elf shook his head in an odd manner. "It is not fit for Elf and Dwarf to be such friends. We are creators and preservers, lovers of the wild and all things that grow. They have little use for our loves and would feign destroy them for smithing purposes. I do not understand it."

Candorien nodded her comprehension, although she thought friendship was not something to be analyzed and understood but to be appreciated and rejoiced at. He was as good-looking as he had ever been, thoughtful steel eyes appraising her with sincerity and affection. She still liked him, perplexing as he was. To change the subject, she ventured, "Do you think Legolas and Tor will get on?"

"Oh, yes." The elf brightened significantly. "He is a lively youth and will do my cousin good. Is he a listener?"

The girl looked back on all their emotional interviews, when she had overreacted and just needed to know someone still cared. "One of the best."

"Excellent. And how have you been these past few years?"

Carson hesitated. At last she knew she was in as much danger of falling in love with him as she had been two years ago. He was so handsome, and she felt so painfully lonely. For some reason, she was always lonely. There were a thousand arguments against it; there always had been.

_Stop it, girl, _she thought forcefully, quite aware of Berenglorion's eyes on her. _You'll just hurt yourself again. Havens knows you don't need to be doing that._

"Why did Aragorn say to you this morning?"

"He told us where you were when we arrived from Ithilien and asked me to inform you that if you leave your room when he has forbidden you to again that he will lock you in the dungeons."

"Dos this place even have dungeons?"

"I will show them to you alter, if you like."

"Psst! You haven't seen them," she scoffed. "Anyways, Aragorn wouldn't dare."

"Really? Now answer me, Candorien: how have you been since we met last?"

She forced a smile. "I missed you."

"We covered that already. Now, Candorien. Not ten years later."

"I'm so tired of being alone," she sobbed randomly. Tears fell from her eyes to her intense mortification. Without a word, Berenglorion held her to his chest and let her cry.

* * *

**Author's Note: Another semi-long chapter (over 3,000 words!) for my darling reviewers. I didn't quite haul myself to the Reniassance Faire just yet, but I am going. As always, your reviews are appreciated, and I will reward those of you who do with cherry pie!**

**Mwah!**

**AiH**

**P.S. GUESS WHAT?? I made assistant drum major! Hecks yes!**


	13. Thunder

****

Ames – You know me so well. Of course I won't tell you. That would ruin all the fun for me. XP

**Emzee – Dar/Car? - shudder – That would never work. For various reasons.**

**Inwe – Well, this is definitely later…**

**K – prolly will be lucky to have over 50 total on the field this year. But maybe I'll be happily surprised.**

**Krys – Thank you.**

**Eavis – I don't like threats, but seeing as how you want me to do something I enjoy, you may threaten.**

**Disclaimer: I own PRINCE CASPIAN!! Eat your hearts out, fan-girls.**

* * *

Tor followed Legolas tentatively through the plastered passages out into the main court. The elf said nary a word but strode to a fountain and a white tree located in the middle of the court. He stared up at the tree before making a shallow bow and walking away.

"Come," the elf called, discontent with the teenage boy's distance. "There's no need to trail after me like some mongrel hound. Come stand beside me as an equal."

Tor did not need to be asked twice. He made his way to Legolas's side. "Where are we going?" he ventured after a few minutes' silence.

"I am not sure. There are many things to see in this city. I do not know what would interest you."

"Car – Candorien, I mean – mentioned there being a wonderful view from the walls."

"Then we shall visit them. This way." They turned and walked down to the outer walls. The two companions said little to one another. Tor was too busy absorbing the scale of the city. He stood on the rampart looking about and below him, eyes as wide as any village gapeseed. Legolas paced to and fro behind him, deep in his own thoughts.

So fascinated was he by the city that the young man failed to notice how close he was to the edge. Tor stumbled against the wall and lost his balance. But for the elf's quick assistance, he would have fallen. Legolas stepped up behind him, locking his arms around the boy's waist. He dragged him to safety easily; the slender elf was far stronger than he looked.

"Are you all right?" Legolas asked concernedly. He released Tor after pulling him to his feet.

"F-fine." Darren brushed himself off and scrambled to find the remains of his precious dignity. "Thank you."

Legolas waved his thanks away airily. "Candorien would have been most displeased had I let you fall. She would never have forgiven me. Nor would I forgive myself.'

"Then it's a very good thing you didn't." Tor was intrigued by the elf's earnest yet careless manner. He had never met anyone who acted in quite the same way, professing to care yet never fully committing himself.

_He's afraid to,_ Darren thought with sudden insight. _For some reason of his own, Legolas is unwilling to develop or show any real attachment. Odd._

"You are right," Legolas replied, green eyes dancing. "Aragorn would definitely not appreciate having to clean your tragic remains from before his gates."

"You're wicked," the young man observed.

"Yes, well, I think it in our best interest – pardon me, _your_ best interest – to remove to a lower elevation, in case you stumble again."

Perturbed, Tor nevertheless forced a laugh. "When you put it like that…"

Legolas raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. Tor glared sardonically in reply. Laughing, the two left the walls and went in search of something active to do.

"Can you ride?" the elf wondered.

"Not well."

"Tsk. That any friend of that centaur Candorien should _not _ride. I am astounded. We must locate a mount for you."

"It isn't a matter of opportunity but of aptitude. I don't like horses."

The wicked gleam returned to the elf's eyes. "Come riding with me. Then we shall see."

"Drat," Tor hissed under his breath.

"Heard that."

"D# your elf ears," the boy retorted, quite loudly. Legolas merely shook his head and chuckled.

Elf and young man collected prospective mounts from one of the errand riders' stables. Legolas's horse, Arod, had a demon look in his eye. The gelding he had chosen for Tor was a rangy black creature, bred more for speed and endurance than looks. He plainly did not trust Tor and dodged around uneasily.

"Yeah, well, I'm not that fond of you either," the young man commented after the horse's seventh shy away from him.

Legolas rolled his eyes for the seventh time. "Look," he observed in a quiet voice, "you cannot order the horse around like that. You have to _befriend_ it."

"And just how am I to do that?" Tor demanded impatiently.

"Like this." The elf stepped in front of him and placed a flat hand on the gelding's shoulder. He spoke in a soft, mellow tone. The horse twitched at the contact; he flicked his tail and shivered. Gently, Legolas stroked the animal's neck, murmuring things Tor could only just hear in a language he did not know. Then with slow movements but undeniable strength, he took the young man's hand and dragged him over to the gelding. Covering Tor's had with his own, the elf slid it over the glistening black flesh. Dark eyes rolled as their owner stomped nervously. Following a stern glance from his fellow, Tor began to murmur to the anxious beast.

"Relax," he hissed, tenor voice dropping to a low monotone. "I am not going to eat you. I don't like horses as they are. Why on earth would I want to _eat _one? Stupid mule."

Legolas stepped back, motioning for the boy to continue. Arod stuck his nose into the elf's hand and nibbled on his slender fingers. The elf muttered a stern word, and the horse retreated.

"Thunder", as Tor grudgingly christened the black, relaxed. He cocked one hind foot and tilted his ears back, listening to the dramatic, annoyed complaining going on at his withers.

"Mount up," Legolas ordered after a few minutes' amused listening to the morose teenager.

"What, no saddle?" Darren's face went white in terror. "He'll kill me."

"Nonsense. Horses are vegetarians."

Darren shot Thunder a nervous, shifty look. "This one could be an exception."

Legolas quirked an eyebrow. Without further ado, he took hold of the six foot one young man and tossed him over Thunder's back. The gelding jumped but didn't flick his rider off.

"Steady now," he coaxed. "Avo bedo."

Weakly Tor struggled into a sitting position. He clenched the horse's mane with shaking fingers. Droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead. Sensing the boy's fear, Thunder shifted his hindquarters. Never taking his eyes off them, Legolas sprang up onto Arod. He clucked to the light horse and gestured for the dark one to follow.

The journey down to the gates was not in the least comfortable. Darren kept slipping and sliding off the sides of the black. Eventually he figured out that by squeezing the gelding with his knees and sitting straight, he had better balance. After several embarrassing minutes, Thunder took pity on his rider. He eased his jolting trot and nosed the boy up whenever he began to go off. Darren's mutterings became kinder; gradually a fervent "Good boy" came to outnumber and even to replace the vehement curses. The elf watched in silence. Boy and horse were learning respect for one another. While he was not a natural, Tor _was _a quick study. He copied his companion's posture and lost a good deal of belligerence. They had just come within sight of the great mithril and steel gates when a Man clad in silver and black hurried over to them.

"Oi!" he bellowed to catch their attention. "Legolas!"

The elf's head jerked around, sending his long blond hair billowing out on the slight breeze. For a moment confusion clouded his features, then he smiled. "Faramir! I wondered where you'd gotten to."

Faramir caught up with them. Piercing gray eyes looked out from a tanned face. Silky black hair was pulled back from a finely shaped brow in a horsetail. There was wisdom and sorrow in his glance, and the exactness of a swordsman in all his movements. Faramir surveyed the brown young man with keen interest. "Picked up a new stray, have you?"

Legolas laughed. "Goodness, no. This is Tor Reavestone. Tor, Faramir, Steward of Gondor. Tor is a friend of the implet Candorien. I offered to show him around."

Faramir nodded his head to Tor and continued his conversation. "Did you forget you were to meet Gimli the Dwarf in Aragorn's receiving room a candlemark ago?"

The elf blanched and mumbled a few choice words.

"I will take the boy. Go meet them before they start looking for you."

"Hannon le." And with a shout to Arod, he was gone. Darren stared after him, slowly blinking in amazement.

"Fast, aren't they, elves?" Faramir observed kindly. He strode over to Thunder and laid a careless hand on the black's nose. "You ride elf-style, I see." The Man noticed the discomfort on Tor's face. "But not, I think, by choice."

"I… I…" Darren stuttered, rather taken aback.

"Not to worry. Forceful, those elves. Would you like to get off?"

"I think I'd fall, sir." Faramir wasn't an elf, but there was a veiled power in him. Steely yet flexible, he inspired in Tor deference and respect.

"Steady," Faramir ordered the horse. "This is not the moment for a discussion of riding styles. I told Legolas I would watch you, but I have a great many responsibilities. Dismount, and you may accompany me."

A stream of the words Carson would box his ears for if ever voiced running through his mind, Darren importuned the gelding to hold still. Rather than complying, Thunder dropped slowly to his knees on the cobblestones and rolled onto his side. Tor leapt off eagerly; the gelding rose. The moment he was free of his rider, Thunder turned to nip at Darren. He took a hunk of material from the young man's trousers and pulled.

_Rip!!_ went the fine cambric fabric. A section of caramel calf peeked through. Thunder ground scarlet cloth between powerful flat teeth. Darren spat out an expletive.

"Here." Faramir swatted the gelding across the withers. He conjured a length of rope from somewhere about his person. Tying it around the black's neck, he yanked the strip of cloth from between its teeth. "I have never seen a horse behave so."

"We don't much like one another."

"I can see that. Come. I must visit some storehouses." Faramir strode off, leading Thunder along behind him. Darren followed closely. Something about this man intrigued him; he could tell that interesting things were sure to happen wherever he went.

* * *

Carson had not enjoyed a talk with anyone other than Darren this much in years. Char listened fabulously well and knew exactly which questions would pull her from her shell. A great deal of baggage lay between them. Even as she looked deep into his clear grey eyes and explained her worries, the girl remembered heartache at the elf's hands. Some confessions she did not make. No purpose was served by betraying confessions and misdeeds of another world.

Berenglorion watched the teenager intently. Some of the random insanity he had at last learned to tolerate had vanished. She was more controlled and sadder. A darkness hovered around her eyes. Her tongue, always sarcastic, had become acerbic. The elf did not see that her randomness was carefully hidden away, that two tough years of high school had finally taught Candorien that sometimes it was best to be quiet. As for her razor-sharp tongue, some things come naturally to a girl with a rather critical mother.

"Candorien," he began tentatively.

"Aye?"

"Do you honestly think MEKESSG is on her way here?"

The girl stood, hand on her sword hilt, and walked to the window. "Yes," she replied, looking out over the city. "I do."

"Do you have _any_ inkling at all of her plans?"

Candorien whirled. Her grey eyes shot forth a death glare capable of shaming a Balrog. The elf gulped and swallowed in mortification. Furious, she snatched her cloak. Striding angrily to the door, Carson yelled, "And don't you _dare_ think of following me!" She punctuated her words with a harsh slam of the door.

Berenglorion sat on the bed, his head in his hands, wondering what he had done to set her off. She was crazy, he decided at last. Her old play-insanity had been replaced by the real thing. Someone would have to tell Aragorn. A cure must be found, before she lots even more of her intelligence. He sat for a while longer, bemoaning his lot, then he rose abruptly and quit the room.

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry I was gone so long. We had finals and then... one thing led to another. Now I am taking my sunburned self off to find some aloe vera, which shall be rubbed into my back by none other than Prince Caspian. The early bird gets the worm, the early reviewer gets the macadamia nut cookie, but the Authoressinhiding gets her King of Narnia. Muahaha!**


	14. Crushcrushcrush

**Celebrytie Aris Channas – Char angered the fearsome Candorien. Warning: stay away from hormonal females.**

**Eavis – My first time riding bareback was on an old Welsh pony who wanted to do little more than walk… until my sister hit her on the rump with a cattle prod (not an electric one). Then she moved rather fast.**

**Inwe – Yes. My king. My Narnia. Muahaha**

**Krys – You may have chocolate chip.**

**Em – How is your hunt going? Have you found the perfect tracker yet?**

**Disclaimer: I rule the world!!**

* * *

It was long past sundown when Tor finally returned to the room. Having spent the entire afternoon tagging along after Faramir and fending off the demon horse, the young man was running rather low on patience. Carson was nowhere to be found. Nor was anyone else, for that matter. The wretch had not even bothered to leave him an explanatory message. He sat on the bench beneath the window, fuming. While following the man had been interesting and informative, Tor nevertheless felt himself inconsequential in Faramir's presence. He didn't much like the feeling.

Five minutes later, a knock sounded on the shut oaken door.

"Come in," Darren growled.

Blushing, a buxom brunette maid came stepping nervously in. "If you please, sir, dinner is being served." She twisted her hands anxiously in front of her, eyes everywhere but Tor's.

A perverse mood had sunk in. It was not at all hindered by the way the maid kept staring at him and pretending not to.

"Disinclined to acquiesce your request," he said calmly, then mentally cursed himself for the Carson-ism. "I regret to say I am not in the best of health at the moment."

The maid gave him a speculative look that swept from his slightly scuffed boots to the dyed white streak in his dark hair. "Indeed, sir? His Majesty will be most displeased."

Darren forced a smile, thinking Aragorn wouldn't care one way or the other. "I do not feel myself tonight, I fear."

"So you shan't have _anything _at all?" She took a step closer, raising an eyebrow. "There's _nothing _I can get for you?"

Rather hot around the collar, Tor retreated. "I am absolutely certain."

"Poor gentleman," the well-endowed girl cooed in what was meant to be a sympathetic voice. "I'll ask the cook to prepare a tray for you, shall I?"

"That's fine," he replied quickly, becoming desperate. Anything to get her out of the room.

"All right, sir. Just let me know if you require _anything_ else." The maid gave him another of those speculative looks and left.

Darren waited thirty seconds once she had gone. Then he rushed to the door and barred it.

_I hate this place, _he thought violently, diving onto the bed. _I just hate it. Horses and elves and nothing makes sense! Carson's off to save the world, and look what happens in the meantime! _I _get questioned and nearly killed. _I _am left to dangle at the heels of great men (and elves) who obviously would rather have nothing to do with me. _I _have to stand here while some girl undresses me with her eyes. I am sick of it._

Still disturbed, he rummaged through his bag to find something to get his mind off things. Finding his friend's confiscated books, Tor picked one at random and opened it. It was the book on handsome males. Piqued by a sense of selfish curiosity, the young man turned the index and then to page 1275.

_Darren King_, the title proclaimed in loud evergreen script. Darren grinned. So he _was _good-looking enough to be in there, wasn't he? And rather high up in the queue, too. The solitary picture of so many other pages was in his case replaced by one that changed every few seconds. He stared down in wonder at the images that captured him far better than any other camera ever had. There he was conducting the band, arms outstretched; fierce dedication etched in every line of his face. Another picture showed him in the midst of a demonstration at a Renaissance Faire. Darren knew if the other half of the photo were shown, he would see Carson biting her lip in concentration, a sweaty lock of hair falling in her eyes as she struggled to think of a way to defeat him. Then it switched, and Darren was dancing, laughing hard. The fourth and final pic had him looking over his shoulder at something, smiling sadly.

"Valar," he whispered, another Carson-ism. Shaking his head, the young man went on to read the girly print in its blood-red ink.

_"We all love eye-candy. Especially when it's more than just candy. Girlies in the Southwest, you were dying for lack of an appropriately sexy hunk 'o' love. Thanks to Darren King, we are distressing damsels no more."_

Darren did a double take, facepalmed, and read on.

"_This boy sure ain't just a pretty face. His interests range from the nerdy to the mouth-wateringly sexy."_

Facepalm.

_"A fearsome tenor sax player, our Darren's keen with a sword and a devil on the dance floor."_

_OUR _Darren?

_"We don't know all he is or ever will be as he is recently come to our attention, but, ladies, don't let that stop you. When he walks past with that incredible rhythm, don't hesitate. Grab a hold and hang on for the ride of your life!"_

The color drained from Darren's face. He felt violated. Nausea tangoed from his gut to his head and back down again.

Someone was banging on the door.

"Milord!" called an overeager maid's voice from the hall. "I brought your food, milord. Don't you want it before it cools?"

No, he really didn't. To be frank, he had no inclination to ever speak with another female again. Politeness and the desire for peace prevailed. Groaning with internal agony, he pushed himself off the bed and opened the door a fraction. "Yes?"

"Here I am with your food, sir," giggled the buxom maid of ten minutes' previous.

Tor glanced down at the stew-like meal and felt his stomach recoil. "I changed my mind," he said abruptly. "I am no longer hungry."

"Shall I leave it for you, then?" asked the maid hopefully.

"No, no, I really don't think so. I'll just use the washroom then go to sleep. Give the cook my apologies."

Before she could say anything else, the young man slipped out from his room, ducked under her arm, and darted safely into the bathing room. Feeling horribly sick, he bent over the thing that served as a toilet and vomited. Every time a wave of nausea passed, another hit, and he found himself being violently ill again. At last after several dry heaves, Darren straightened up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He tottered to one of the cubicles, shutting the curtains behind himself and changing quickly. Darren collapsed into the bath at last, exhausted. The hot water at once set to work on his knotted muscles. He groaned with pleasure before passing out.

When Tor finally came to again, the water had become tepid. Frowning, he reached for a fresh ewer of boiling water and poured it in. For a moment his skin felt scalded, but he soon grew used to it. The young man snatched up a bar of lemongrass soap and scrubbed fiercely at his skin, as if that could remove him of the stain the maid's gaze and book's words had given him. He lathered and rinsed, nails digging into his caramel stomach, thighs, and forearms in an attempt to thoroughly cleanse himself. After quite a long while, Darren stood, still shaken, and toweled himself off.

Once more, some servant had come and left a pile of clothing for him. These were obviously far more informal things. Tor slid the white cotton shirt over his head, quite relieved to see the return of his black and yellow boxers. He pulled them and the chocolate trousers on with a grin, then shoved his feet into soft brown slipper-like things. He strode to the door and hesitated. Judging the coast _had _to be clear by now, the boy darted across the hallway into his own room. It was sweetly, blessedly empty.

"Whew!" Darren allowed himself a sigh of relief as he shut the door securely.

"Honestly, where have you been?" drawled a cool, confident voice.

Darren leapt three feet up and six feet forward. He whirled, breathing heavily. Sweat broke out on his brow. Carson stood behind the door, clad in black pajama shorts and an old OU hoodie of his that she had never returned. Her grey eyes widened in amusement, then narrowed with concern.

"Easy, boy. Are you all right? What happened?" She tossed her head, clearing the blond hair from her face.

"Get away from me – girl." Tor took a chance and ran past her to the other side of his bed. With it between them, he stopped, panting.

Of course, the girl followed. She watched him for a long moment before speaking. "What happened, mate? Pull yourself together!"

The young man eyed her warily. Then with obvious reluctance, he sat cross-legged on the bed. "I hate females," he growled.

Carson raised an eyebrow. "Any particular reason why?"

"They – just – ugh!"

"Oh really?"

Before he knew it, Darren found himself telling her the whole story. His friend could be an excellent listener when she chose, as now. Carson made the correct responses, winced in all the right places, and never laughed.

"Ouch," she murmured when he finished. "Sounds like you had a sucky evening."

"And you?"

"I went to a secret war council that decided nothing and culminated in my stealing Gimli's axe and being chased, captured, and lectured for it."

"Legolas was right."

"Eh?"

"You _are _an implet."

The girl drew herself up as if deeply offended. She stuck her chest out, opened her mouth, and sang, "I've got something to say to you, yeah. I've got something say… They taped over your mouth, scribbled out the truth with their lies, you little spies." She repeated the last half of the lyric and went into a violently passionate air drum solo.

Rolling his eyes, Darren murmured, "Crush… crush… crush crushcrush two three four!"

"Nothing compares to" –

"A quiet evening alone!"

"Just the one, too" –

"I was just counting on!"

"That never happens…"

"I guess I'm dreaming again! Let's be more than this now!"

"Rock and roll, baby, don't you know that we're all alone now? I need something to sing about!" Carson strutted towards him, inches from misbehavior. Then she was dancing madly, as she had known all along she would be. "Rock and roll, hey! Don't you know, baby? We're all alone now! Give me something to sing about!"

"I'll give you something to sing about," growled Darren. He tackled the girl and knocked her down. She hit the floor hard but was up in an instant, grinning mischievously.

The teenagers circled one another with the wary eyes of those long used to it. Carson reached out suddenly to slap Darren on the cheek. He punched her in the shoulder. She threw a leg up to kick him in the upper thigh with the side of her foot. Darren dodged the kick and caught her foot. He yanked it up. Carson whimpered in pain. She twisted herself free and landed a blow to his solar plexus. Down Tor went to his knees, gasping heavily. The girl stepped behind him for a moment; he seized his chance. Darren threw himself backwards, knocking and pinning her to the ground.

"Surrender, sea hag?"

"Not on your life, codfish." She hesitated just a moment before sinking her teeth into his shoulder.

"Carson, no biting!" He hit her on the temple painfully, landing a blow that stung and smarted. Tor shoved her against the floor, pushing his shoulder into her chest. "Give it up, Carson."

"Fine," she wheezed. "I surrender. You win. Now help me up, will you?"

Tor leapt to his feet. He stared down at Carson for a minute or so, smiling as she writhed in discomfort. "Oh, all right," he finally said, hauling her up. "Did I actually hurt you?"

"Oh, I may have a bruise or two, and my dignity's been sadly affected, but I'll be okay." Still, Carson let him help her over to the bed. She saw no point in refusing a chivalrous act, even if it was unwarranted. "You?"

"Amused." Darren pushed her down onto the bed, still smiling evilly. "I wondered where my Carson had gotten to."

"I never left."

"Oh, yes, you did. Carson was gone, and in her place was this fine lady Candorien who told everyone what to do and carried an air of doom with her wherever she went. Call me a liar," he threatened, seeing the confrontational look on her face, "and I'll knock you down again."

"Fibber," she snapped.

Darren grabbed her wrists and shook her like a rag doll. "Carson! Listen to me, lady-love, or you'll end up as prettily screwed as those Sues you profess to hate so much."

The girl glared balefully up at him. He glared right back. She looked down at the arms still clutching her own. "Ke'chara," she began, startled, "how did you get like this? It looks as though you've been scratched terribly – and I know it wasn't me this time.

"I felt so dirty with that girl staring at me," he confessed. "And that book… I'm not a bloody piece of meat, Carson. I am a person. A man. I hate that book. IT makes me feel like a slave or something. I… I just felt so nasty. Like all anyone thought of me as was a… a… an object for them to…"

"A lust/worship object, yes."

"Why? Why, Carson? It was so awful and horrid. I just…" the young man shuddered expressively.

"Come here." Carson stood and pulled him into a hug. He buried his face in her shoulder. Murmuring that it would all be okay, she rubbed his back soothingly.

"The Sues won't get you, love," she promised when they finally broke apart. "I won't let them. They can't get through me when my dander's up. I _will_ protect you, Dar. Count on it."

He forced a smile. "Why would any… any of them … want _me_?"

She hugged him again. "Because, dearest old codfish, you are handsome and interesting and good. Besides, you present a nice challenge for them."

Tor looked down at her dourly. "Great. Just great… As long as you don't plan on using me for Sue-bait."

"Never, milord. You're too dear to me. I like you far too much. And I would get bored without you."

"How kind you are, sea hag." The young man took her hand and held it with one of his own. "Pardon me if I'm rather girl-shy for a while."

"As long as you don't shun _me_…"

"You aren't a girl, Carson-love. You're a sea hag. I have absolutely no problems with sea hags."

"Would the rest of the world were so kind," she muttered.

"Then you would appreciate me fully."

"Oh, I always would. There's no one quite like you, Darren," she said fiercely. "No one, all the worlds round."

"I surpass even the great Berenglorion?"

Carson screwed up her face into a thinking pout. "Not surpass exactly. It's like comparing crème brûlée and steamed dumplings."

"Which am I, the crème brûlée?" he teased.

"No," she answered frankly. "The dumplings. Healthier, different, altogether better for me. Luckily, one can always have both."

"Very few can, sea hag dear," Darren observed quietly. "Be careful, Car. The more you gain, the higher the cost."

"All dear things have a high price," she told him. "Only then can they be properly valued."

"Hmm."

They sat down on the bed. Carson pulled her knees to her chin. Darren sprawled by the pillows, tired again. "Carson," he asked at length, "how long have you had my hoodie?"

The girl buried her nose in the material and inhaled. "Not too long. It still smells like you." She breathed the scent in again. "Why?"

Before he could answer, however, the door to their chambers burst open. Legolas sprinted into the room and dove across the bed to land in a ball on the other side. The elf curled into a fetal position, hidden from the doorway by the bunk. Carson and Darren, eyes wide and startled, looked down at him unblinkingly. At last they found their voices.

"Legolas," Carson began tentatively, "are you all right?"

"_She_'s back," he hissed fearfully, green cat-eyes anxious. His pupils had expanded to twice their normal size.

"Who's back?" Darren asked, momentarily confused.

"_SHE_ is!" the elf cried. Suddenly he snapped back to normality. "Candorien, what _are _you wearing?"

But she was not listening. Her worst fear had come true. Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow had returned. Carson threw her head back and screamed.

* * *

**Author's Note: As always, your feedback is appreciated. I think you'll have liked this episode in fluff and insanity. I know my reviewers 3 updates, but as an authoress, I lurve reviews. So give your desperate AiH her fix, eh?**

**Authoressinhiding**

**P.S. Caspian says 'Ahlo!' ... and 'Help me!!', but we'll forget about that last one.**


	15. In Dreams

**Emzee – You know, I finally realized what those descriptions in the book of DOOM remind me of – those teenybopper fan-magazines like Popstar and Tiger Beat. The way they exclaim over males' excellent attributes and how gorgeous and talented and whatnot they are. Gag me with a spork.**

**Celebrytie Aris Channas – Neither did anyone else.**

**Krys – Prince Caspian returns your greeting.**

**Ames – Yep, I am officially addicted to reviews. Captain Torrington?? I love that!**

**Disclaimer: I am currently out of cheese, pickles, and rum. Something must be done!!**

* * *

"Will you shut it?" Darren roared as his eardrums threatened to explode. The young man pummeled his friend in the stomach. She toppled from the bed and landed on Legolas's bony hip. Finding the unexpected weight of a teenager on top of him, the elf went psycho.

"Ow, ow, ow, stop it!" Enraged, Carson sat on his chest and clasped his hands between her own. She eyed the long white scratches on her tanned bare legs murderously. "Could you please behave and act like a sane, reasoning adult?"

Darren sniggered uncontrollably until he lay prone on the bed, shaking with laughter. Carson shot him a glare, but he ignored her. "Legolas behave, Carson? Who are you to tell another to behave, you filthy little hypocrite?"

Even as she stuck her tongue out, Legolas shoved her to the floor.

"Get off me, Candorien," the elf ordered regally, all momentary insanity vanishing in an instant. "Do try to act mature. And what in Nienna's name are you wearing?" He pursed his lips, giving her shorts a rather scandalized glance.

"Clothes from my world," she explained quickly. "After that council I needed the comfort factor."

"You shall need it even more in a minute. That witch is here." Legolas could not bring himself to speak her name. His discomfort turned to amusement as his green eyes flicked over her ensemble a second time.

"How bad is it?" she inquired, glad Tor was paying close attention.

"Horrible. I do not believe she has seen me. Caerdor, that aide of Aragorn's, warned me. I … I would make a request of you, Candorien, and of you, Tor."

"Aye…" the friends replied as one in a very awkward daren't-look-at-one-another moment.

A brief smile illuminated the wood elf's drawn features. "I fear returning to my rooms or Gimli's, come to that. _She _will have discovered them out. Might I remain here for the night with the two of you? I promise not to be a bother."

"Not a problem," Candorien assured him at once. Then with a strange grin, "You may kip with Tor."

A strangled look flashed across Darren's face but was instantly gone. The young man swallowed with great difficulty. "As she says," he told their distraught guest, "it is no problem."

"Hannon le," Legolas murmured fervently. "I regret that I simply do not trust myself anywhere near that… female."

"I don't blame you, mate," the girl said comfortingly, patting his hand. "She can be a _nasty_ piece of work."

"Let's go to bed," Tor suggested. "I doubt anyone will bother us if we are asleep. And hopefully you could stop worrying about everything for a few hours." He addressed this last to Legolas.

"Perhaps."

With surprising speed, everyone got settled and clambered into bed. Tor lay as far on his half as possible. Legolas stared cold-eyed at the ceiling, lost in his own Elvish dreams. For a long while both teenagers remained awake, troubled by the day's events. Finally they dropped off to sleep.

That was the first night Carson dreamt of William Turner.

* * *

Darkness engulfed her, icy cold shadow that swelled and battered at her exposed skin. A shadow loomed up suddenly before her. A great serpent, crowned with feathers of cerulean and vermilion, bent its head down over the struggling girl. It bared its teeth, gleaming ivory daggers as long as her arm from wrist to elbow, their edges razor sharp. The serpent wove its lithe body through the air, dark emerald scales glittering in the night. Its huge black eyes gazed unblinkingly down at her, titillated by her mounting panic. With a sweeping noise as of a great wind, the serpent swept down to gobble her up.

Next followed a series of disturbing images: centaurs, leopards, and tree-spirits fighting Hags, Werewolves, and Minotaurs; a great green skull with a serpent tongue shining over a high tower; Tor lying dead from many sword wounds; MEKESSG kissing her older brother; the windows of an opera house shattering from the inferno contained within them; wars and murders and all sorts of horrors. Her mouth dry, heart pounding away madly in her chest, Carson wished desperately for them to go away. When at last they did, everything went black.

Upon the belated return of her senses, Candorien squashed her fear and panic. This was _not_ her bed. She lay on a hard, wooden surface. The lower half of her torso was actually touching it. Something, or someone, had hitched up her tank top and hoodie. Cool air brushed the naked skin on her back, which she now realized burnt like fire. It ached, too, and every movement caused indescribable pain. Then firm, callused hands were rubbing something numbing and unctuous onto the aching flesh.

"Ye gods," she moaned, opening her eyes. Great. She was on a ship. Ships were bad juju at the moment. The wooden floor and walls swam hazily before her. "What happened?"

"I was just wondering the same thing," grumbled a tenor voice. "How did you manage to get lashed so hard it raised welts not once but ten times?"

"I have no idea," she mumbled. "What's going on?"

"You're dreaming."

"Oh."

"Technically, you're dream-jumping." Noticing her confusion, he continued, "Moving from Realm to Realm in your sleep and commandeering others from their own dreams into yours. Dream-jumping has far greater effects that regular dreams."

"Who are you?" the girl wondered, barely registering his words. Everything was fuzzy, and none of it made sense.

A man's face appeared before her eyes. "Peekaboo."

"Argh! What are _you _doing here?" she demanded.

"Your subconscious wanted me in this dream," Will sighed, spreading more of the ointment on her sore back. "So here I am."

"What are you doing to me?"

"Applying aloe to your whip cuts. Not by choice, of course, you little Sue. Your subconscious is making me do it." The pirate dug his fingers into the tender skin. Carson let out a piteous whimper against her will. He smiled in satisfaction. "What were you dreaming about before this, wench?"

"Sea serpents and death," she replied quietly. "I don't like death. Ah!" Will had applied more pressure than was strictly necessary. "And I am not a Sue."

"You soon will be, if you keep dream-jumping." He eased up on the ointment, looking at what part of the girl's face showed beneath her hair. "It is a _nasty_ habit. Messes up everyone else's sleep."

But a new worry had struck Carson. If these whip marks extended above her bra strap – and the pain in her shoulders assured her they did – what had he seen? She flushed hotly.

"Get over yourself," Will ordered as if he knew what she was thinking. "I have absolutely no interest in you."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Beyond the your-subconscious-is-making-me reason, you remind me of a little hurt bird."

"I just love to be compared to injured animals," she simpered, voice oozing sarcasm.

"Hush," Will told her. The brunette strolled over to cupboard on the ship's wall and withdrew a large roll of linen bandages. He helped her into a sitting position and directed her to hold still. Face flaming, Carson attempted to fasten her bra strap. Will stepped in at once, knowing from personal experience the pain the girl was enduring. The man hooked it for her and forced her to stay rigid as he wrapped several feet of material around her stomach, back, and chest. After he tucked the ends of the bandage in, he pulled her tank and hoodie down as well. It was such an awkward moment Carson half-wanted to laugh, but her other half was so mortified it wished to throw herself from some high battlement. The girl slumped on the wooden bunk, lost in the pain. For a long while, no one spoke.

Finally Will broke the silence. "Seeing as how I'm stuck here until you wake up," he began with a look saying they would never speak of what had just occurred, "what shall we discuss?"

"How do you know about the Realms?"

The man paced the room, his dark eyes cloudy. "I ferry the souls of those who die at sea to the other side. There are more seas than the Caribbean, Carson. Most Realms have their own entities to fulfill my role – the Shadow Lover or Black God or whatever they call it – but I service several. Indeed, my home world is no longer my own. I am a legend there. Do you," he swallowed, "do you have any idea how difficult it is to be a living legend? My virtues must be great, and therefore so are my vices and follies. I serve a sea goddess as wild and unpredictable as her realm. You would not believe half my duties."

Annoyance surged in the pit of her stomach (or was that nausea?), but Carson kept her cool. She held in the bitter "try me", instead merely nodding sympathetically. Silence would do more for her cause than an angry retort. Something still bothered her, however.

"I am not a Sue," she declared mulishly.

"Yes, you are. Girls from your world who are not Sues rarely fall into my world, let alone run amuck in it as you have. Non-Sues do not kiss me or sleep in my arms. They do not appear when least wanted or escape from the brig and send the crew into a panic. They are not unwanted meddling strumpets!"

"So that's what I am, am I? An unwanted meddling strumpet? Valar, I almost hate you."

"I wish you did," he replied solemnly. "Then none of this would have happened. Do you have any idea how ashamed I am of my own behavior? How shocked and horrified and sickened I have been? I cannot forgive myself. I was engaged to the love of my life and look what I did!"

"Shut up!" Carson roared, thrusting her fingers into her ears. "Just shut up already!"

"Your wish is my command," he sallied ironically. "We shall never speak of this again."

"I hate you," she spat, enraged. Tears of fury pooled in her eyes.

Suddenly the man was inches from her, glaring down into her defiant grey eyes with his cold brown ones. Tension flared in Carson's body. A chill zoomed up her spine. Ruefully she realized Will would always have this effect on her – and there was little she could do to change it.

"Good," he hissed, eyes still locked with her. "Maybe you'll take a hint and do what's good for all of us. Get out of here." His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, fingers twitching spasmodically.

"Of course," she smiled sweetly. "Just one last thing." Her sweet smile turned to a savage grin, Carson drew back her bare foot before slamming it into his shin, angling the nails to cut skin. "Farewell, Master Turner."

* * *

Then she was awake, lying panting on her bed in Aragorn's guest chambers. The room was still pitch dark, but there was no way she would be able to sleep now. A single tear slid down her cheek. Brushing it away, Carson cursed mentally. Frustrated and furious, the teenager dug in her pack to find her iPod. She slipped into her sleek black headphones and click-wheeled to "Prelude 12/21" by AFI. She hummed along to the opening chords, envisioning the tattooed, eye-linered, emo-shagged band. Her fingers strummed an imaginary guitar with little accuracy.

A form slid onto the bed from the blackness. Carson nearly screamed; she hated being surprised like this.

"Bad dreams?" whispered a too-quiet voice as Legolas seated himself more comfortably. His green eyes gleamed unsettlingly in the night.

"You could say that. How's Tor?"

"Sleeping heavier than Gimli and taking far more room than he ought. What was the dream about?"

"Oh, just random stuff. I don't like _Her_ being here."

"Neither do I, Candorien. I far more than you."

"I disagree. Who nearly got slit from ear to ear?"

"Who was controlled body and soul by something despicable?"

"Game point." She inclined her head. "You win."

"What are you doing?" the elf inquired with a suspicious look at her iPod.

"Listening to music."

"On a metal sliver?"

"Here." She handed him the headphones and paused the song. It was hard not to laugh as Legolas struggled to place the apparatus on his pointed ears. When at last he figured them out, she hit play. Legolas lasted three seconds. Then he flung the headphones at her, a look of pained distaste on his elegant features.

"You call that music?" the elf accused haughtily.

"D'oh. Yes, I do. And you know why? Because it is."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"It is nothing like music."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it is not."

"Music."

"Not."

"Music."

"Not."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No!"

"_Yes_!"

"_No_!"

"_YES_!"

"_NO_!"

Suddenly the door was thrown open. A well-endowed green-eyed auburn young woman strode in, wearing a flimsy ethereal dress. She was accompanied by a glassy-eyed Berenglorion. "Leggy! I knew I'd find you here. Miss me?"

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**Muahahahahaha! Review, please?!**


	16. Murder

**Hunter – Thank'ee. I love new reviewers. Huzzah!!**

**Celebrytie Aris Channas – I did write more. I wrote a lot more. Happy?**

**Slayer3 – What goes up, must come down. Perhaps what must come down has to go up first as well? So the Sue must rise before we may defeat her…**

**Ames – It isn't a habit **_**yet. **_**If she doesn't stop, it will become one. The whip was a random part of her evil dream sequence. She doesn't remember everything.**

**Inwe – Keep kicking. I want my revenge.**

**Emily – When you write that FF story, let me know. I want to read it.**

**Disclaimer: I own Legolas. Nyah!**

* * *

Candorien leapt to her feet. She sprinted to her sword and yanked it bodily from its sheath. Legolas turned white in terror. One pale long-fingered hand clenched his dagger hilt.

"Not particularly," he muttered in a strangled voice.

"Leave him alone," the girl hissed, moving in front of the elf. She held the blade in a guard position. "Get out."

"Candy, darling, don't be silly," Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow trilled. "I just wanted to say hello to Legolas. You can relax," she added in a kind voice to the wary elf. "I have a new betrothed. Say hello, Berenglorion, dear."

"Hullo," the dark elf mumbled in a monotone. "Is my lady not the finest in all of Arda?"

"Oh, Char," MEKESSG murmured, using Candorien's pet name for the elf. Then she took his face between her hands and kissed him long and hard on the lips.

Flames flared in Carson's eyes, licking the air with furious, desperate power. Legolas raised a finely arched eyebrow at this new development.

_I am so sick of getting my heart broken again and again … and again, _Candorien thought, forcing herself to calm down. _Get your paws off him, you greasy wannabe elfish wench!_

She turned to Legolas, who was still rather pale. He met her eyes, then looked significantly over at Darren, sleeping peacefully. Limbs flung about haphazardly, he _was _taking up the entire bed. The covers seemed to have been kicked off, and all he wore was a pair of boxer shorts and a raggedy old T-shirt.

"How can he sleep through all of this/" the elf wondered quietly, averting his gaze from the face-sucking couple.

"Teenager," Carson replied, equally quiet. Her patience had run out. "Oy! You two! Separate!"

Berenglorion and MEKESSG broke apart with a great sucking noise. Tor sat upright in bed, eyes wide as he looked about for the plunger. Finding none, the boy stared at the scene before him.

All the light in the room emanated from the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Auburn hair flowed like an enchanting river down her back. Her voice was a chorus of twinkling bells, the loveliest melody ever to grace his ears. Emerald eyes danced, surrounded by arching red brows and an elegantly pale complexion. She had curves in all the right places, and whatever the heck she was wearing left nothing to the imagination. Any male in their right mind would have been entranced. Darren yawned.

"Honey, why are you being so hysterical?" the gorgeous vision was inquiring in a sweet voice of a vindictive, ticked-off Carson. The latter stood in the middle of the room, sword in one hand. Darren watched as she stretched her right leg back and bent the knee slightly in the precursor to her favorite thrust, one designed to disembowel the recipient. "Honestly, darling, whatever is the matter?"

No one else required an explanation. The girl Candorien detested most had just made out with one of her worst crushes. Candorien's free hand shook dramatically at her side. A trembling of her right calf betrayed her longing for bloody work. It would be all too easy to lift her blade and slit MEKESSG from breast bone to abdomen.

"Did I do something to upset you, Candy?" simpered the beautiful girl in a fearful tone. "Please be polite and answer me."

Her face crimson with effort, Candorien pulled her leg in and stood still. "I'm fine," she choked out, refusing to look at anybody. And then, "What time is it?"

"A half-hour till daybreak," MEKESSG informed her, calculating green eyes never leaving the other girl's blanched face. "We really must be up and doing things. There's a war coming."

"What? What war? And who are you?"

The emerald eyes turned their powerful gaze upon Darren for the first time. Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow smiled at him winsomely, her every movement heartbreakingly perfect.

"Hello, handsome," she crooned. "What's your name?"

"Tor. Tor Reavestone," he answered after a slight pause. "You didn't answer either of my questions. Who are you, and what war are you talking of?"

"I am Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow," she said with the same air of self-importance she had used three years before on a cold night in troll country. "The Haradrim are on their way to invade. Did you not know?" Ushering Berenglorion before her, the perfect girl swept from the room.

For a moment no one spoke. Then Carson set to dressing in stiff, jerky movements. The others copied her actions. Plans, worries, and questions whirled, half-formed, in everyone's minds. They left the beds unmade. Leather creaked as Tor tightened his sword belt and Legolas and Candorien slung quivers over their heads. Steel rang at the forcible sheathing of daggers. Legolas sat to braid two strands of golden hair framing his face with dexterous fingers. The elf's green cat-eyes were dark in thought. Bending over, the teenagers laced up boots.

When they were all prepared, Legolas broke the silence. "I am sorry, mellon nin," he murmured to Carson. Her face had faded to the color of bleached ivory. "I know you care for him."

It was the closest Legolas had ever come to acknowledging Carson's mega-crush on his kinsman. Candorien nodded in thanks. Not trusting her voice quite yet, however, she dared not speak.

"You have met Her Ladyship at last, Tor." The wood elf turned, sardonic, to address the young man. "What did you think of her?"

"She's full of it," Darren replied promptly. "Chin up, Candorien. So someone else kissed your man – elf, pardon me, Legolas. Stand up and fight. Or let him go. Your choice."

The girl viewed him with baleful eyes. Vexed and vehement, she was in no mood for anything but cold-blooded murder.

"What's the plan?" the young man asked, impervious to her fury. HE twiddled a quill pen between his fingers. No one had the slightest idea where it had come from.

"First, we go see Aragorn. Second, I procure a skewer. Third, I kill her. I have had enough!" Carson was screaming by the time she finished.

"Do not injure your soul with such a deed," Legolas cautioned. "Please, Candorien. Show some rare sense – I know you have it in you somewhere."

"Shut up, Legless," she ordered, throwing the door open. Moved to action by a horrid sense of helplessness, she stormed down the passage, the males at her heels. "Stay out of my way."

"Don't be a fool, Can-can," he spat back at her. "If we are indeed at war with the Haradrim, what better way to dispose of her than this? Their captains would be all too pleased to do that job for you. Murder is _not _something to be taken light, tithen orch," the elf added in a dark voice.

"You would know," she hissed hatefully.

Darren followed the bickering couple as they strode through the white-plastered hallways to Aragorn's study. By the time they finally reached the heavy oaken door, Candorien was shouting at the top of her lungs, and Legolas was scarlet with self-restraint. Desiring for the row to continue, Tor opened the door for them with a flourish, and the quarrelsome duo flounced in.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Have I not? Shut up, you prissy little elf!"

"Don't you dare speak to me like that!"

"And why shouldn't I? I will call you what I want, how I want, when I want!"

"AVO BEDO, Spawn of Morgoth!" The King of Gondor and Arnor had had enough. Aragorn leapt from his chair, beet-red in fury. "Legolas and Candorien, silence yourselves and separate!"

Elf and maiden turned to flee one another's company. Legolas ran smack into MEKESSG's ample bosom. Carson tripped over her own feet; Berenglorion caught her. It was hard to say which was more displeased with their situation. As Legolas became the color of cottage cheese, Candorien muttered a low word in Khudzûl. Turning from their undesirable companions, mortal and immortal collided.

"Legolas, Candorien, sit down and be silent."

Sprawled on the floor, they hastened to untangle their limbs and sit up politely. Still chuckling, Darren entered and closed the door behind him. He remained standing, the better to survey the crowded room.

Aragorn stood behind his desk, glaring ferociously at the two miscreants. The most beautiful woman Tor ahd ever seen, surpassing even MEKESSG in her loveliness, sat next to the king. Her keen grey glance swept over him, then Arwen turned her dark head to smile, amused, down at Candorien. The raven-haired Faramir was in a corner, one arm around the waist of a fiercely lovely blond woman. She scared Tor. Two grey-haired elves lounged carelessly against the wall near Berenglorion. Satanding beside MEKESSG and fingering his axe was a short, truculent figure clad in a heavy cotton nightshirt and corslet of polished steel rings that had nevertheless seen plenty of service. It was he who spoke next in a rich brogue.

"Why are you two acting like idiots?" was the gist of what the dwarf said, though his actual words were vastly coarser, rougher, and more to the point.

Neither replied. The sight of Berenglorion looking like a lovestruck zombie had sent Carson into homicidal rage mode. Strains of the "Suffocation" song emanated from her throat. Actual contact with Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow turned Legolas's stomach. The elf was a vague puke-green, and he looked about to faint. Though they were still angry with one another, he leaned on Candorien's shoulder, and she let him.

"Once again…" The dwarf repeated his earlier questions.

"A question of ethics was the root of the dilemma, I believe," Darren answered for them. He could tell his friend would be in no condition to safely speak to others soon. Legolas's nausea was apparent to everyone.

"And who are you?" asked the dwarf tersely and with slight courtesy.

"His name is Tor Reavestone, and he is a friend of the demon-child Candorien," Aragorn informed the others with a heavy sigh, sinking wearily into his chair. "Tor, may I introduce you to my lady wife Arwen" – she nodded to him as he bowed – "Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and my most trustworthy Steward" – they viewed one another with mutual approbation – "his wife Éowyn, the White Lady of Rohan" – she _really _scared Tor – "and my foster brothers Elladan and Elrohir, the noble Sons of Elrond." The twin dark elves raised their eyebrows at him. I believe everyone else is acquainted with one another."

The red-bearded dwarf coughed loudly.

"Oh, yes, I beg your pardon. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, a most valiant and outspoken dwarf."

Gimli glowered.

"Now may we at last get down to business?" the king requested in what was almost a pleading tone. "Lady Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow, you said you had important news for us."

"Yes, my lord, I do indeed," she simpered. The two on the floor twitched in violent emotion. MEKESSG awarded them a cool glance and went on, "Ten hosts of the Haradrim – over half their full strength – are voyaging as we speak to make war on the forces of Gondor and wrest their most revered king from citadel and throne."

"What evidence have you to support this theory?" inquired one of the twin elves in a tone of languid disbelief.

Only Candorien, who regrettably knew her the best, recognized the impotent fury in MEKESSG's green eye. "That of mine own eyes, Master Elladan," she intoned with perfect sweetness. "And if that is not enough" – the hard faces of elves, men, and dwarf told her it was not – "I have these." The paragon of loveliness flung a bundle of scrolls onto the desk.

They came loose, and one rolled to Aragorn's hand, the one with the royal signet on it. Carson gazed at the huge ring and coveted it. The king opened the scroll; his dark eyes scanned it quickly.

"We owe you a great deal, my lady," he said after a significant pause. "Anything you desire – within reason – is yours for this great service. Gentlemen, honoured ladies… Candorien… Lady Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow shall be greatly rewarded for what she has brought me this day.

_Stupid man! _Carson longed to shout. _Stupid, stupid male. See how you play into her hands? She wants this? Oh, you fool. You poor, noble, chivalrous fool!_

She was not alone in scenting danger. Gimli, Legolas, and Darren had all gone wide-eyed. Elf and dwarf exchanged dark looks. The teenager chewed his lip. Èowyn's intelligent eyes gleamed ironically.

"I thank you, my king." MEKESSG curtsied.

Aragorn nodded. "We must prepare for war," he announced, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

Carson rolled her eyes, cursing the gullibility of men.

"Perhaps, Estel," murmured the Queen in a beautifully musical voice, "we ought to gather more intelligence before we act. The more informed we are, the better."

Arwen's intercession brought her husband back to common sense. "Yes, yes, of course. Faramir, will you" –

"I will. We shall have reports within the week."

"If that is all…? Council shall be reconvened upon further information." Aragorn yawned. "What unhourly hour is it?"

"A half-hour past daybreak," Faramir replied, glancing out the study window.

"Excellent. Breakfast shall be had two hours past. I expect you all to be there." Aragorn rose, dismissing them all.

The conspirators huddled from the room and into the hall where they separated into their little groups. The two married couples strode away, conversing with one another in hushed tones. Solemn yet merry, the sons of Elrond winked at Candorien, causing her to flush scarlet, and seemingly glided off. Gimli took the paralyzed Legolas's arm and gestured to the two teenagers. Curious, they followed. MEKESSG and her latest paramour were left to their own disturbing devices.

"Why are men such idiots?" Carson demanded once the four were safe in Gimli's quarters with the door bolted.

Darren was visibly affronted, but he kept his mouth shut. Legolas collapsed into a sturdy chair and bent over, head in his hands. Gimli exchanged his corslet and nightshirt for breeches, a long-sleeved shirt, and a waistcoat. Underneath everything he wore a leather jerkin and the mail shirt. No one bothered to answer the girl, a bad decision on the whole. She was building up to a rant and ought to be intercepted before she accumulated too much steam.

"I can't believe Aragorn fell for her little ploys hook, line, and sinker!" she exclaimed. The angry pacing had begun. Her audience sighed in exasperation or moaned, depending on the personal agony imbibed by the presence of Her Most Lovely Pain-in-the-Rear-ness.

"I denounced her as a witch… two years ago now. I hoped I would never see her agin. Somehow here she is once more, and her purposes seem as muddy to me as they ever did. I banished her from my father's domains in order to be forever rid of her." Legolas spoke in a dull, pained monotone, never once raising his head from his hands or looking up from his study of the flagstones in the floor. "I cannot begin to describe my devastation at her reception in this city by my friend."

"Aragorn was not there at our last encounter," Carson said without rancor, her fury vanishing at the sight of the elf's distress. "He may not understand the full implications of what happened."

"I told him shortly after. It is not like Aragorn to forget troubles of such magnitude. Does Tor know what happened?"

"Not completely," the teenager replied. "Car – Candorien may have told me, but I forgot."

"It was nothing, really," Carson began hastily, embarrassed for this part of recent history to be related.

"Do not spare him the truth." Legolas looked up at last, his green eyes filled with heavy, dark emotion. He gazed at Tor unblinkingly and murmured, 'I very nearly killed your friend."

"What? By accident, I assume."

"Nothing's an accident where that wench in concerned, lad – not you, Candorien. _Her._" Gimli emerged from behind the screen where he had been changing.

The elf grimaced. "I almost _murdered_ Candorien."

"I can see why you'd want to, sometimes."

"Hey!"

Darren only grinned at his irate female companion. "Sorry, lady-love, but it _is_ the truth."

"Ye're a good girl – mostly – but some days I wish Thorin had known ye. You would have exasperated and annoyed even the wicked worm Smaug to the very grave." Upon seeing Legolas remained uncheered by their tomfoolery, the dwarf added. "It is all right, laddie. You did not kill the minx. All is forgiven."

Legolas turned hopeless eyes to Candorien. She dropped to one knee before him and took one pale hand in her own small warm one. Gray eyes locked with green. "There was never anything to forgive," the girl assured him. "Ever. No matter what happened to me then, I have and do and will always hold you blameless, all right?"

This restored his good mood slightly, and the four spent the remaining time until breakfast conversing and goofing off. Carson was baited and teased by all the company till her face flushed red and she threatened to run away. Finally they left to go to break fast.

"This can only end in tears," Darren muttered to Carson as he closed Gimli's door.

"Probably." She shrugged. Suddenly a look of wolfish delight lit her features. Tor shuddered. "Two words."

"And they are?"

"Food. Fight."

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**Comments? Concerns? Insane laughter? I will take it all!**

**Authoressinhiding**


	17. Food Fight!

**Inwe – In this chapter there shall be not only Sue-bashing but what almost amounts to Sue-sliming**

**Slayer3 – By inserting a spork of Doom into my story, I would have to entrust it to a character able to withstand the mithril power. None such person exists.**

**Emily – I wonder exactly how hot those fiery depths of Mordor are…**

**Ames – Don't throw tomatoes at me! Save the rotten vegetables for those who deserve to be pelted with them.**

**Eavis – Question one: I would love to, but I can't write Orlando Bloom stories on this place. It's in the rules that we can't use real, well-known people. Otherwise I'd do it in a heartbeat. Question two: I try only to write fandoms when I really understand the characters and whatnot. I will think of writing a Chronicles fic, but I don't have the plot bunny for it. **

**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing except Darren. **

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Breakfast began innocently enough. Everyone meandered to the feasting hall and waited to be seated. Some fool put Candorien and MEKESSG across from one another. As the former's jaw tightened, the latter smiled angelically. Tor and Gimli exchanged meaningful looks.

"Ten pence Candorien breaks before we're halfway through the meal," Gimli whispered.

The teenage boy shot his sulking friend a glance. Unhappy she obviously was, but not even MEKESSG could come between Carson and breakfast. She would hold out until after her stomach was satiated. "You're on," he wagered. From then on they kept hawk eyes on the hormonal females.

Legolas, overhearing, shook his head, but continued his discussion with the sons of Elrond. He had not been to Rivendell recently and desired to know how things stood. Of course, he reflected, judging from the expression on Candorien's face (as if she were seated across from a reeking pile of oliphaunt dung), it might be necessary to strap her across the cantle of Arod's saddle and pay a visit very quickly.

After what seemed ages of polite conversation, servants come in with the first course. Hungry warriors and dainty court ladies, who for all their tiny appearances could certainly put it away, devoured the fresh fruit in an instant. Carson's face lit up with obscene pleasure when she spotted a grapefruit. Then MEKESSG made a snide remark.

"Dieting, darling?" she asked. "I don't blame you."

Carson glared and attacked her grapefruit. Each spoonful was a personal enemy now.

"You may lose that bet," Gimli chortled after one particularly violent spoon-thrust.

_Come on, Car, _Darren thought desperately. _We haven't got ten pence. Recover, recover. Come on, love!_

Lucky for him, she rallied, faked a smile, and replied, "I don't diet, but I _do_ want to be healthy."

MEKESSG frowned. Before she could snark back, however, more food arrived. Plates brimming with eggs, bacon, sausage, beautiful white rolls, honey, butter, jam, porridge, and more were set down along the table. Darren's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. His stomach gurgled so loudly that several nearby elves looked around wildly for the source of the disturbance. Flushing, the boy set to with a vigor unmatched by any in the room. He was seventeen, starving, and soon, snarfing.

Elrohir turned away from the rather indecent sight. "A friend of the girl's, you say, Legolas?"

"A hungry friend, yes." The wood elf cast a pleased glance at Tor, but swallowed hastily and the terrible rate at which he was eating. "Very hungry."

"I almost think he could out-eat Master Bilbo," Elladan observed. "This boy has the stomach of one of the Beörnings. Someone advise him to slow down. I begin to feel nauseous."

Only a tad less hungry than her drum major, Carson buttered herself a roll and chewed slowly. Her instincts screamed for more food and faster, but she was not inclined to scarf'n'barf that morning. The girl moved steadily through a plateful of eggs, sausage, and bacon. Opposite her, MEKESSG nibbled daintily on scones and other pastries. She wrinkled her nose in disdain at the rough manners of the other teenagers.

"Stuff it," Darren muttered around a mouthful of roll.

"Do slow down," she drawled. "You are absolutely disgusted."

He scowled. Thankfully Carson intervened by treading lightly on his foot. The friends glared at one another for a moment. Then, mouth twitching, the girl reached out and wiped a bit of bacon from off his nose. Darren snorted. Amused yet firm, she handed him a napkin with a pointed look.

"Brothers, behold the savages attempt to civilize one another!" Elladan declared. This remark earned him looks of DOOM from the etiquette-challenged young people. Helpless to stop themselves, Legolas and Aragorn sniggered.

"I hate you," Carson grumbled, made angrier by her mortification.

"Candorien, behave!" called Aragorn from the head of the table.

With a grotesque grimace, she nodded up at him and turned, furious, to the remains of her meal. "I'm not hungry," she sulked.

"That sounds like a personal problem to me," MEKESSG simpered.

"Bite me."

"Darling, I'm not a cannibal."

"Candorien is," Gimli pitched in, eager to stir up trouble and win the bet.

The sixteen-year-old girl bared her teeth in a feral grin. "I prefer dwarves, Master Gimli. Something you would do well to rememb – Ow!" Tor kicked her covertly under the table with rather too much enthusiasm. "What was that for?" she hissed.

"You are being rude, little stinker. Treat the other guests nicely."

"Or what?"

"Or I'm going to sit on you."

"Ugh."

"Yeah. Now hush."

"Never!" she declared spiritedly.

Surreptitiously, looking down the table at a yet-untouched pastry, Darren reached for it and slid his leg across Caron's lap. Hidden beneath the table, no one else saw. Ever easy to startle, the girl jumped six inches, knocked her glass of grape juice over, and slammed her elbow down in a butter dish, which proceeded to go flying. Legolas looked up from the purple stain spreading through seven feet of white linen just in time to catch the butter dish descending with a great clang on the pale temple of none other than Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow.

Her Beautifulness leapt to her feet, outraged. Darren withdrew his leg, somewhat ashamed of himself. If he lost the bet because of this scatter-brained behavior, there would be severe repercussions. Well, more severe. The burning look of reproach in Carson's grey eyes promised painful revenge in and of itself.

"How dare you?" MEKESSG shrieked, high enough to shatter the eardrums of any bats in the vicinity.

Elves winced. Men clapped their hands to heir ears, and Gimli swore loudly. Already in a bad mood, Candorien rose slowly, anger morphing into rage which froze as hatred on her pert features.

"How dare I?" she hissed in a scary voice. "How dare _I_? It was an accident, you hen-witted sapskull. I don't smear butter all over my elbow on purpose." She glared in furious distemper down at Tor. He was the culprit in her eyes.

"You did this to hurt me!" the beautiful girl screamed.

Candorien snorted, her eyes alight. "Why would _I _want to hurt _you_?"

"Because you're sadly jealous of my beauty. If you had just asked, I would have been more than happy to share my secrets." MEKESSG looked hurt and ad.

_Not half as hurt as she'll be when I'm finished with her, _Carson thought vengefully. _Strumpet!_

"You don't have to be so proud, Candorien. I want to help you. There's no need to throw things out of a petulant immature envy. I know you wish you were me, but please don't get violent.

"Wish I were you?" Carson was terrifying now, a figure of ice and steel with a flame in her eyes and mouth. "Why should I want to be like you? I hate you. I absolutely, without a question, detest you. You are the epitome of all that is anathema to me. And if I were going to throw anything at you, it would not have been something so innocent as a butter dish." Grinning evilly, Candorien reached down to grasp the other girl's wine glass and tossed the contents in her face.

Everyone gasped in horror. MEKESSG was murderous. Her face, still beautiful, contorted in paroxysms of fury. In her mind, there existed no doubt; Carson was going down. She cast around for her plate and threw it at Carson, who ducked. The platter of delicate, jam-filled pastries flew across the table and hit Tor in the chest. He staggered back, caught unawares, then with a roar snatched a piece of sausage and flung it at her. It landed with a wet smack on Berenglorion's cheek.

Eyes wild with shock, the elf swayed. Quickly recovering, Char chucked charbroiled salmon at Legolas. Carson snorted in wild hilarity. Legolas got his revenge, shoving a cream puff in her hair and hanging another off one of Berenglorion's pointed ears. Girl and elf howled as one. The very first rule of life with Carson – well, after letting her sleep and respecting her standards, was to never, under any circumstances, mess with her hair. Legolas had just broken this most sacred of commandments. It was war now.

"What's going on down there?" inquired Aragorn in a commanding voice meant to put a damper on all misbehavior.

Unfortunately for him, insurrection reigned. Berenglorion, driven mad by the cream puff on his ear, sprinted to the head of the table and upended a tureen of soup over the king's head.

Chaos ensued. Fair maidens shrieked with glee as they pelted Aragorn's somber warriors with cakes and pastries. Éowyn hurled sausage patties faster than Faramir could find them for her. Elves sipped from wine glasses held in one hand while chucking chocolates at random females with the other. After the first moments of shock had worn off, Aragorn fell to it as readily as any of them. The courageous king cackled like a pranking schoolboy as he danced around slipping eggs down the backs of everyone's clothes. MEKESSG backhanded him for this. He staggered back from the unexpected blow, face crimson, to the hooting and jeering of his noble guests.

Before five minutes of food warfare had passed, Carson and Darren found themselves hiding under the table, arms drawn about their knees in order not to expose any skin.

"Hullo."

"I hate you. This is all your fault." The hormonal teenage girl pinched the hairs on some male's exposed shin. He shouted and attacked his neighbor.

"Don't try to tell me you aren't enjoying it."

"I shouldn't be," she murmured, picking up a wedge of cheese and forcing it inside a lady's slipper. The lady swore.

"Bad manners, this lot," the young man observed. Grinning mischievously, he selected a bruised strawberry and crushed it in the palm of one hand. Then Tor dropped it on someone's lap. "I feel rather sorry for the servants."

"Including the one that almost tried to proposition you?" Revenge was sweet.

His death glare would have leveled a mammoth. "Shut up."

"Persuade me."

"Do you really want me to do that?" Darren scooted closer to her, one dark eyebrow raised.

"As I said… persuade me."

"Very well, then." The young man slipped an arm around her waist. He clapped the other hand over her mouth and knocked her to the floor. With a wicked smile, Darren tickled her. His fingers flew as she writhed in agony. Armpits, belly, back, nowhere was safe from Tor's overeager tickling.

All around the two teenagers, savagery ruled. The great hall was being desecrated by the antics of its frenzied inhabitants. Had she not been so busy attempting to deflect her friend's hands, Carson would have greatly pitied the servants. As it were, the girl's attention was concentrated solely on escaping and getting payback. Just when all heck threatened to break loose, a quick voice silenced all commotion.

"Stop this now," ordered Arwen in a haughty, commanding tone. Her will was immediately obeyed. Food fighters dropped their weapons and sank into chairs. "Who is responsible for this insanity?"

Carson and Darren inadvertently chose this moment to stick their heads out from opposite sides of the table. Their faces flushed, hair mussed, eyes gleaming with mischievous good humor, neither troublemaker was anywhere near a picture of innocence.

"Candorien," Aragorn and Arwen said together in tones of great doom, "come here now, please."

Darren fought back a smirk as she crawled from beneath the table. The girl made her embarrassed way to the dais and bowed stiffly to the king and queen.

"I am very disappointed in you, my little friend," Arwen sighed, her lovely face grave.

_What? This isn't even my fault! Well, not really… I better not get in trouble for this…Darren is going to pay._

"Could you please try to behave? Candorien, I grow weary of your immature antics." Aragorn looked upset, mad, and tremendously let down. She felt like a worm and longed to run away and hide. Of course, she couldn't.

"So do I, my lord Aragorn." It was MEKESSG again, sticking her pretty nose where it had no place to be. "I may have a solution for the problem."

_Bug. Oh, no. Valar, save me! _Wide-eyed, Carson turned a scared face to plead with the former Ranger if it became necessary.

"Yes?" he asked brusquely, ignoring the other girl's plea of silent supplication.

"Dear Candy seems to be in great need of help. She appears to be incapable of making herself behave. I know how to help. Turn her over to me for lessons in deportment and conduct."

_Oh, no. Don't say yes. Don't say yes._

"That sounds excellent. You may have her now, if you wish."

"I do. Come, Candy." Carson was forcibly dragged from the room. It was all she could do to flash Darren a pleading look, and then she was gone.

* * *

**Comments? Questions? Concerns? AiH is still in an EFY daze... best place on earth.**


	18. Tristan & Elise

**Emily – I would smear something other than ice cream… **

**Celebrytie Aris Channas – You would enjoy it if Tor and Candorien kissed, wouldn't you?**

**Inwe – They are… but vanity often ends in revenge.**

**AE – Perhaps they were too busy laughing.**

**Hunter – I highly doubt that he was thinking at all.**

**Slayer3 – No sporks of doom in my stories… not yet, anyways.**

**Ames – You went to a George DMA?? So did I!! Starred thoughts!!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned it, someone would have punished me by now.**

**A/N: My greatest apologies for the leave of absence. I was busy with band camp, visits to the morgue (PM me for details), and trying to soak up the last few rays of sunshine before school begins.**

* * *

"Candy, darling, why must you act in such an outlandish manner?"

Carson bit her cheek. She would be quiet; she would be quiet; she would be quiet. It would not do to explode now. She must plot and wait for Darren to rescue her. Candorien desperately hoped he would rescue her. She was trapped in MEKESSG's boudoir, an insanely large room (suite of rooms, actually) chockfull of feathers, sparkling things, pillows, pink, neon, dresses, wigs, makeup, posters, pictures of gorgeous males, hair accessories, and over 100 pairs of shoes. The glare from all the shimmering objects nearly blinded her. Carson was forced to keep blinking so frequently she resembled a dazed owl.

"Candy, it's rude not to answer!" MEKESSG sat at a dressing table, carefully applying powder to her flawless face. She wore a turquoise polonaise over a black corset. "Why must you be so uncouth?"

_I am human. I am imperfect. I have a TEMPER!! You made me mad._

"Candorien," the vision of perfection stood and stalked over to her victim. "When I ask you a question, you would do well to answer me." Then she moved, quicker than sight, and slapped Carson so her head snapped to one side. Crimson spread across the girl's cheek with tingling, burning pain. Baleful eyes gazed upward at MEKESSG. "Well? Explain your bad behavior."

A low growl emanated from Candorien's throat. She was slapped on the other cheek for her impertinence.

"That is it. I have no idea how I am to curb you of your bad behavior. I am very disappointed that Aragorn let you become so spoiled. It shall be hard for me to rectify it, but no worry – I can accomplish anything." Grinning in a way that brought Carson to a near panic, Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow fished in her dresser for some pale pink braid. She bound the other girl's wrists tightly. Still, Candorien knew her restraints would magically leave no marks.

"What are you doing?" Try as she might, Carson could not keep the nervous fear from her voice.

"Turning you into a lady. First, a makeover." MEKESSG filled her arms with makeup and hair products. "You really ought to take better care of yourself, Candy."

_Help! _the poor girl whimpered silently as the dreaded makeover began. _Somebody, anybody, save meee!!_

_

* * *

_

Carson's going to want to get out of here.

Darren paced alone in their chambers, lost in thought. _Aha! I'll get the horses ready, then find her. Shouldn't be too difficult to tell where the …tart…has her._

Five minutes' sprinting later, the young man reached the king's stables. Hasufel and Thunder lounged in stalls next to one another. Unfortunately, neither horse was wearing so much as a halter. What was he supposed to do now?

"May I help you?"

Tor whirled to face the newcomer. He was an inch or two shorter than Darren, but more muscular. Clear, pale blue eyes peered out from beneath a shock of red-gold hair. The stranger was maybe a year or two Tor's elder. A worn leather bridle hung over one shoulder, and a bucket of oats dangled from the opposite hand.

"How may I be of assistance?" he repeated, smiling.

"Oh…" Darren hastened to regain his composure. "I need to saddle these two horses for myself and a friend, but I'm not sure where their tack is or how to go about it."

"All right, sir. Just let me feed Alecta here, and I will help you. Name's Tristan, by the way," the boy called over a shoulder, tipping the oats through the bars of a stall door into a trough. The stall's occupant, a delicate grulla mare, nickered her thanks.

"Tor."

"Beautiful horse, that one." Tristan indicated Hasufel when he returned with two sets of tack. "He yours?"

"My friend's. I'm supposed to ride the other one." Darren relieved the stable hand of a saddle, blanket, and bridle.

"Here. Let me show you." Tristan led Thunder out of his stall onto the stone floor. "You line up the blanket like so and …" With quick, easy competence, he saddled the gelding and slipped the bridle on before Thunder could get too agitated. "I'll do the gray. You calm Roch down."

"Roch?"

As Hasufel decided to be a problem child, it was a short while before an answer came.

"'Roch' means 'horse' in Sindarin. We get a few elves in the stables every so often, so we pick up a few things. The black's been Roch for the last six months. He may get renamed soon enough, though. Here you are." Tristan passed Hasufel's reins to Darren. "Anything else, sir?"

"Actually… Tor hesitated for just a moment, then continued on with a huge grin, "there is one last little thing you could do for me."

_

* * *

_

When I get out of here, someone is going to

die_. _Mutinous thoughts coursed through Carson's head as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her mouth shut… again. She hated the world: Aragorn for sending her into the monster's clutches; MEKESSG for being a monster; Darren for not arranging a rescue yet. Of course, he was not very familiar with Minas Tirith, but some action ought to have been taken by now.

"Candy, if you would just cooperate, you wouldn't be in such a situation." MEKESSG spun her victim around so she could see herself in the mirror. With her hair arranged in some bizarre updo, enough makeup for a circus of clowns, heels two sizes too small, and tight clothes that revealed more skin than they covered, Carson felt like a high-class courtesan. She fumed inside.

"Bollocks," the band nerd spat. Every girl wants to be beautiful, but Carson preferred it on her own terms. Just a touch of eye shadow, plentiful mascara, the right gloss or lipstick, and she was done. A quick blow-dry and interview with a flat iron cowed her rebellious hair. Fitted shirts and slightly flared jeans helped her to feel confident and not self-conscious. Besides, a girl could do pretty much anything in jeans – dance, fence, play jazz, ride horses, even curtsy, if she tried hard enough.

Still smiling sweetly, MEEKSSG pinched Carson on the arm, _hard_. The latter wanted to hurl. Great. Now she had another bruise to add to her collection. She had been pinched, poked, jabbed, and slapped a thousand times in the course of the last hour

"I mean it, Candy. Why can't you behave?"

"Aaaour," Carson mumbled, pleased with her platypus noise.

"Candorien!" _Slap!_ "We do not have time for your ridiculous shenanigans. I am supposed to educate you."

"What, by dressing me like a … doxy and letting me learn the business of a bordello firsthand? No thank you!"

_**SLAP!**_ "You will be obedient and respect your betters."

Carson's vision began to go out. Everything was bathed in a scarlet haze. She found herself on her feet, trembling in fury.

"Candorien!" _Slap! _"Sit down!"

The girl roared in anger and pain. With strength she had never known existed, she tore free of her bonds. Hatred bubbled up inside her, threatening to explode. Carson couldn't control this; she could barely see. Red obscured her vision. Lost in a sea of crimson emotion, Carson was sucked under by a fresh tide of vermilion anger.

* * *

"Miss! Miss, you have to wake up!"

Someone was shaking her. Carson moaned. She ached all over. The shaking did not stop. It only got worse. Her head was a mess of tangled thoughts. It _hurt._ Everything hurt. Finally Carson forced herself to open her eyes, to face the pain and deal with it.

One of the maids, a slight creature with cheerful brown eyes and strawberry blond curls tumbling from her cap, was bent over her.

"What… Who… What happened?" Carson mumbled as her skull exploded with pain. She clenched her teeth against the agony. A single tear trailed down her cheek.

"Elise's my name. I just found you passed out, Miss. Are you all right?" the maid inquired worriedly.

Before Carson could answer, the door was flung open, and two teenage boys hurtled in.

"Good Gog, what are you wearing?" Darren stared down at her, half-concerned, half-amused. The second young man followed at his heels, gazing about in mute astonishment. Not withstanding her pain, Carson noticed his pretty blue eyes. She nearly died with embarrassment at her friend's remark. Right… she was still all Sue-ed up.

"Shh! She's hurt," scolded Elise, the maid.

Tor jumped backwards. He rather disliked maids at the moment. Irritated, he went on, "You look like a bloody trollop. I can see cleavage, for Haven's sake. What have they done to you?"

"Aaaaour." Carson made the platypus noise again. Mortification was slowly overcoming her migraine. "Give me a fin, codfish."

Leaning down, Darren pulled her to a sitting position. "You okay?"

"No." The cute guy looked confused as he watched her. Just her luck. "What do you think? May I _please_ have your cloak?"

Although he smirked in amusement, Tor unfastened the black cloak and draped it over her shoulders. He could guess why she wanted it well enough. "Tristan, meet the owner of the horse you admired so much. Candorien, meet Tristan."

"Ahlo," Carson mumbled, rising and wrapping the cloak about herself. "Forgive my state of disarray."

"You have a fine mount," Tristan replied, still looking somewhat uncomfortable. He got major brownie points for not staring at her girl, who still felt less clad than a Vegas showgirl.

"Which reminds me…" Tor pointedly avoided noticing the maid. "I got the horses saddled – correction: Tristan got the horses saddled – so you could make an escape, but I'm not sure now whether you want one or not."

"Ten minutes. Just ten minutes. My clothes are around here somewhere. I'll meet you at the White Tree in ten minutes, okay?"

Her friend nodded in acquiescence. "Tristan, let's go make sure the horses haven't destroyed something priceless and irreplaceable while she gets ready, eh?" The males exited; Tristan shut the door behind them with one last glance at Candorien.

"You need help," Elise observed. "How can you be ready in ten minutes? You look like a ten-year-old who's been playing dress up and mucking about with her mother's cosmetics. How did you get like this?"

"Courtesy of her ladyship Mary Elizabeth Pain-in-the-Rear Greenhow."

"She isn't very nice, then. It looks as if someone's beaten you."

"They have… but I shan't let _Her_ triumph for long. Please help me, Elise."

The two girls rushed to locate Carson's other clothes and get her into them. While Elise unbraided and ran a comb through the other girl's tangled mane, the girl in question scrubbed her face violently. She went through three clean linen handkerchiefs before her face was presentable. When their quick clean up was finished, Carson looked like her old, natural self, albeit with red cheeks and a few bruises which were already beginning to appear.

"She did hurt you, then."

"Aye."

"Try not to intimidate Tristan too much," Elise added as Carson sprinted for the door.

"What?"

"He's my brother. Don't be a fine lady and scare him."

Carson froze in her tracks and skidded to a halt. "How do you… What do you mean?"

Brown eyes twinkling, Elise laughed. "I'm a maid. We know everything."

"We are having a discussion tonight. You come help me dress for dinner. Please?"

"If you wish, Miss. Now you'd better hurry; you're nearly late."

"Crivens, you're right!" The sixteen-year-old hurtled through the hallways. Her body still ached, but there were stories to be exchanged and a new boy to observe. He wasn't really that cute, she told herself, but he had potential and hadn't stared at her too much. Besides, he had lovely eyes. Carson was a sucker for eyes.

****

Author's Note: Sorry once more for the delay. As always, I appreciate reviews, and flames will be used by Erik in his Chamber of Open-Mindedness.

AiH


	19. Obstacles

**Celebrytie Aris Channas – Oh, dear… not another reviewer out for romance!**

**Em – Do you have any idea how hard I would have to kick her to make her brains fall out?**

**Ames – Did he give you guys the zombie talk? "Detail, sparkle hut!"**

**Slayer3 – Hold in the aggression for just a little longer.**

**Eavis – Don't worry. Here the update comes.**

**Inwe – I don't know where the Mary-Sue has gone. Somewhere, I assume.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except a few character quirks and the name Phillip.**

* * *

When she reached the meeting point, Darren and Tristan were waiting. The former straddled a rangy black and did not look pleased about it. The latter sat a fine-boned grulla mare. Hasufel stood meekly between them. Acknowledging her surprise with a raised eyebrow, Carson used the last of her energy to jog over to them.

"What's the plan?" she wandered, hoisting herself into the saddle. Firmly planted on the sturdy, worn leather saddle, her self-consciousness disappeared. So did Hasufel's good manners. The grey horse immediately danced in place, eager to be off.

"Tor and Roch are in need of some bonding time." On horseback, they were all equals. Station did not matter. "Here." Tristan tossed her a water bottle. The girl caught it easily and drank deeply. "Rumor has it you are an excellent rider. Your warhorse also suggests it. While Tor learns some basics, you and I will be trying an obstacle course. Lady Èowyn herself practices on it to stay fit."

"And Tor agrees with this?" She turned to her companion in disbelief.

"Legolas and Faramir have both threatened me with more riding lessons. I would be a fool not to take a chance to learn all I can. Even if," Darren swallowed, "I do not particularly like horses."

"Why not?" Tristan's former smile of approval became a scowl.

"One, I don't know how to communicate with them. Two, they're rather large. Three, I would prefer to ride something that could fight, like a nice big polar bear. Or any bear at all. I'm not picky."

"Hmph. You and Roch definitely need some time together. Let us ride."

With a whoop and a nudge to his mare, Tristan led the way. Carson followed with Darren bringing up the rear. The riders cantered through the city and out the gates. At first shod hooves clanged on clean cobblestones, but soon they only thudded dully on an earth trail packed tight by much usage.

Fresh air filling his lungs, Tristan laughed openly but often turned around to check on the gentry, as he kept referring to the other two riders. The girl _was _good. She moved with her horse naturally. Unfortunately, she lacked real form. As for the young man, he and Roch were getting along surprisingly well. He had yet to fall, anyways. Perhaps the bareback ride with Prince Legolas _had _improved his skills.

Alecta swerved suddenly, and Tristan returned his thoughts to his riding. Fresh and overjoyed by an outing, Hasufel stretched his neck out, lengthening his stride. Bit by bit, the gelding overcame the grulla. When he passed her, Carson let him run for a while, then reined him in for a turn. Hasufel reared, screaming to the cerulean sky. His rider's hands left the reins and went to his mane. The girl clung on determinedly; he could not unseat her with his wild tricks.

Not to be undone, Roch, (or Thunder, as Tor still thought of him) raced to catch up with the others. A speedy black streak in a world of blue sky and green turf, the gelding galloped madly. Tor hung on for dear life. The grass, a sea of emerald waves, brushed against Thunder's hocks. His mane and tail flared out on the breeze. Gradually, Darren conquered his fear. Forcing tense muscles to relax, he sat straighter and shouted in exultation. This was marvelous! He was so free. Any moment now, Thunder would take off into the sky and fly away.

An abandoned wain wheel, enormous and charred as it lay on its side, loomed suddenly up in the grass before them. Without warning, Thunder's thick muscles bunched. With a quick spring, the black soared through the air for a moment that lasted a lifetime. Having cleared the wheel, he lighted with a light jolt and continued to run on. Not quite so prepared, his rider jerked at the landing and tumbled off.

Luckily, Darren knew how to fall. He curled into a ball, rolled, and got to his feet as soon as he was able. With a shriek, Candorien spurred (figuratively) Hasufel towards him. Tristan rode Alecta up to the black gelding and waited for him to slow enough so that he could catch the reins. He returned to the other two, brushing a sweaty lock of red-gold hair from his eyes. Upon ascertaining that her friend was not grievously injured, Carson inquired if he had enjoyed himself and exhorted him to get back on. Tristan seconded this advice.

"Well, Blackie." A half-smile on his lips, Darren took his horse's reins from Tristan and gazed into the intelligent dark eyes. "I think I might light you." Thunder lipped his fingers with a gentle nicker.

"I think he may actually like you, too," Tristan observed in slight wonder. "Odd… he doesn't usually like riders."

Shrugging as if to say he could not help being likeable, Tor pulled himself into the saddle. He stroked the black's neck gingerly. Everyone wondered how long this newfound alliance between horse and human would last. It did not bother Darren too much. For the first time in his life, the caramel young man actually _liked_ a horse. He was going to enjoy it while it lasted, as opposed to ruining it with uncomfortable questions. The trio ventured on, their mounts choosing every once in a while to display their wildest behavior.

Finally, they arrived at the obstacle course. A simple trail leading into the woods, it did not look like much. Still, chills rushed up Carson's spine as she thought of what awaited in the trees. A stream, like as not, fallen limbs and decomposing tree trunks, rocky gullies and unexpected hollows… she could not wait to ride it. Darren, on the other hand, was content to stay on the plain and work with Thunder. Having already fallen once, he wanted to experience more of the gelding's gaits before a repeat experience occurred.

"So I guess it's just you and me." Tristan grinned in challenge. "Loser has to rub down the winner's horse."

Carson's grey eyes gleamed. "You're on."

The riders were off! Side by side, Alecta and Hasufel plunged into the trees. Despite her petite size, the mare was very speedy and agile. Tristan and Candorien ducked simultaneously the low elm branch that extended across the path. Then they leaned forward as their mounts jumped a toppled birch. Muddy and slippery, the trail itself proved as much a difficulty as the actual obstacles.

Suddenly the path led down a steep slope. Bracing herself, Alecta slid down. Mud streaked her grulla flanks. Hasufel snorted, momentarily refusing to take the hill. When he did move, it was in a series of abrupt leaps that took him to the bottom. Breathless, Carson panted as her mount steadied himself. Alecta and Tristan had started again already.

"After them," she hissed through her teeth. "Let 'er buck, Hasufel."

Nickering, the grey tossed his head and sped off along the trail after the other horse. Great patches of sweat appeared on his flanks and chest. He would pass them. A horse of Rohan does not take defeat easily.

The lady was doing better than Tristan had thought. Looking back, he saw them gaining on him. The girl clung like a burr to her gelding. Her mouth was set determinedly, and her form, while not improved, was such that she and the horse moved as one. _They _certainly did not require bonding time. A near-stumble of Alecta's reminded the stable boy of how important it was to pay close attention. Gently, he guided her in a mad scramble down a pile of scree. Next it was time to coax her into a swiftly rushing stream that did not at all look safe. Tristan urged his grulla to step in to the icy water. Balking at first, she eventually obeyed.

Finally caught up, Hasufel plunged into the wide stream (more like a river) with no reservations. Carson flung herself from the saddle and into the cold water, which came up past the saddle skirt. She kicked and stroked with one arm while holding on to the saddle horn with the other. Then the equestrian swung back aboard as Hasufel began to climb the opposite bank.

Wondering why she had gotten off, Tristan remained in the saddle as Alecta bravely swam the chilly stream. His calves were soaked. AS he whispered words of encouragement to the wet mare, she picked up speed and cantered along the path. Hasufel and that _girl_ were in the lead now. More low branches and fallen trees dotted the swerving, circuitous trail that was to take them back to the clearing where they had left Darren. Wheezing, the horses turned on a dime, taking corners as tightly as any barrel racer.

At last it was just a dangerous scramble up a stony bluff and a straight, desperate race to the break in the trees where Darren waited. The two riders crouched in the stirrups and begged their mounts for more speed. It was truly now or never.

* * *

While the others were gone, Darren rode Thunder about a bit more, enjoying his canter and gallop, hating the jolting trot the black used to punish his rider when he was in a bad mood. After a short period of time had passed, the brown young man unsaddled the horse and hooked a long tether to his halter. Game time had arrived.

"Let's see how you do in battle." Drawing Carson's sword – which he had pilfered earlier – Tor went through his warm-up stretches and a few beginner's passes. Thunder stood by, unimpressed. "Okay, you big lout. Time to get down to business." Tor tied the tether to his belt and stepped into a guard position. "Fight, horse. If you don't want to end up as dog food, fight."

Steel flashed through the air as Darren moved, a streak of caramel skin and blue linen in the green grass. Increasingly complex blocks and strikes followed simpler practice passes, then he was running through battle dance after battle dance. Sweat rolled off him, and every muscle ached, but oh! it felt so good to be doing this again.

He was music, poetry in motion. Even as he lifted the sword high to slay an imaginary opponent, every movement was beautiful. Fighting was in his blood. No guns for Darren King. He could defend himself well enough without them. It was his Cherokee heritage, the savagery and skill of a warrior lurking beneath the veneer of a high school student. Four years of hard training had left every muscle toned and given his physique a taut strength few teenagers possessed. Having been runner up at National Championships last year, Darren had sworn to himself that this would be his year. Nothing came between Darren and his blade.

At last Thunder caught the excitement. He cavorted and danced like a foal, expending his pent-up energy. As Darren dropped his sword and move through hand-to-hand techniques, the black lashed out with a fore hoof before snaking his head around to bite an invisible orc. Kicks, punches, jumps, and acrobatics were now the main focus of Tor's workout. The young man cartwheeled to Thunder's side. Taking a great risk, he snatched a handful of mane and catapulted onto the gelding's back.

Now _this _was magic. Although he could not possibly have sensed the boy's desire, Thunder slowed enough as they passed the sword for Darren to lean over and grab it. They charged a line of unseen enemies. Knees clenching the gelding's withers tight, one hand wound in the thick black mane, Tor extended his sword and impaled the nonexistent foe. Thunder reared and fought the air, hooves flailing madly.

_I'm going to fall; I'm going to fall, _Tor thought in terror. _No! _he screamed in determination to himself. Though his legs ached with the strain of staying on the slippery black horseflesh, the teenager brandished his blade and shouted a war cry to his mount. Plunging back down, Thunder trumpeted and took off before his hooves hit the ground. Although his rider immediately grabbed the halter and pled with him to slow down, a few minutes passed before the black slowed to a walk and finally stopped.

Just as Darren was beginning to catch his breath, Carson and Tristan shot into the clearing, Alecta just a nose ahead of Hasufel. The racers pulled up and walked their horses over to Thunder and Tor.

"Well?" Tristan inquired, taking in Darren's bedraggled appearance in one glance. "Who won?"

"You did."

"Thank you." The redhead bowed from the saddle, blue eyes dancing merrily. "I believe that means Lady Candorien must tend to both her steed and mine. I wonder what her guardians would say if they knew."

"They would say I deserved it, you spintry." Carson ran a hand through her damp hair. "That was fun." Her eyes caught on Darren's abandoned tack. "As an act of further penance, I'll help you saddle up." She dismounted and shook like a wet dog.

"Why are you soaked?" he inquired, leading Thunder over to the pile of tack. Not that he was surprised by it, really. He just wondered why.

"Our course led through ha stream." Fingers flying, Carson saddled Thunder in half a minute.

"And you had to go for a swim?" It figured. Carson loved water and strange behavior.

"Yep."

"Oy." Darren mounted, shaking his head.

"Back to the citadel!" Tristan called in an adventuresome tone, and they rode off.

* * *

**Author's Note: Trying to update a little more quickly, but with AP Physics and AP Calculus, it's getting to be rather difficult to find time for things. As always, I love reviews, and I love my reviewers even more! Pie to all those who review this chapter!!**


	20. A Polished Mercenary

**Celebrytie Aris Channas – Perhaps.**

**AE – How about Phillip for the gnome's name?**

**Krys – Yes, potpie does count.**

**Ames – We will return to the Sue presently, but I like escaping her for now. How goes your season?**

**Slayer3 – Do keep the spork handy. It will prove useful.**

**Emily – Thee and thy sickliness…**

**Disclaimer: Legally, I own nothing. Illegally, I cannot say.**

* * *

The stables reached, slight gloating commenced. Tristan lounged on a hay bale, watching in amusement as Carson struggled under the weight of the wet tack. While she hung all three saddles up to a dry and placed the bridles and blankets on their pegs, Darren climbed up to join Tristan. The guys laughed and teased one another about their horses and the lost bet.

Carson gave Alecta and Roch thorough if quick rubdowns and spent more time on Hasufel. She worked combs through tangled manes and tails, brushed off the dried sweat and mud, and cleaned pebbles, nuts, and twigs from shod hooves. Sweaty and exhausted, the girl longed for a hot shower and a nap, but there was no time. As soon as she finished this, she needed to go prepare for a court dinner. Gag.

"Heyla, Tor, would you like to come spend the evening with me at The Red Arrow? It's an inn in the lower city frequented mostly by guardsmen and the King's messengers. Rumor has it Lord Faramir will be joining us there tonight. I think you'd enjoy it."

"Sounds like fun." How could anyone refuse those earnest blue eyes? Tor certainly couldn't.

"Excellent. Would you like to come, Lady Candorien?" Tristan's tone was half-mocking, half-sincere.

"Can't. Court dinner," she grumbled. The inn sounded much better. "I have to go."

Tristan shrugged carelessly. "Oh, well. Ladies will be ladies. You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought you would be nothing but a nuisance. Candorien, I begin to think you may actually be a human being."

Unsure whether to be flattered or insulted, Carson settled the matter by flushing scarlet and mumbling something about needing to get cleaned up. She walked hastily out the door. Chuckling slightly, Darren followed. Cleaning up sounded amazing.

"Come back here at sundown, and I'll show you the _real_ Minas Tirith!" Tristan promised. The brown young man waved a hand in acknowledgement.

Once outside, he hurried to catch up with his fleeing friend. "Oy! Sea hag! You okay?"

"I hate it when I don't know how to act around someone. Valar, he isn't even that cute, but…" she paused in her rant, searching for the right words.

"But he has heavenly eyes, you always fall for eyes, and he teased you," Darren surmised, a shrewd gleam in his dark eyes. "Was the obstacle course awkward?"

"No, it was great, but it was competition. I don't like him that way, Dar. You must think I'm nothing more than a bundle of hormones running rampant in a body."

"Only sometimes," he murmured, too low for her to hear.

"I think he's okay-looking and a good rider. I just want to be friends. Am I still allowed to flirt with him?'

"I love how I'm _your _dating guide."

"Well, you _do_ have more experience…"

He frowned. "Experiences _you're_ not supposed to know about."

"You have friends with loose lips. I have ears. Do you honestly blame me for being curious?"

"I did not tell you those things for a reason. I did not wish to change your opinion of me." His frown deepened. "Or make your mother's worse."

"As if I'd tell her that." Back in the citadel, they spoke in softer tones. "Look, Tor, I really don't care." She reached out and held his hand. "What you do is your business. Sure, I may not necessarily approve, but that doesn't change the things I love about you or how good of a friend you've been. As long as you don't flaunt them in my face, we're good. 'Kay?"

"You require so little… To turn the discussion back to our original subject, I think an actual friendship would do you wonders. The more friends you have, the higher the friend to crush ratio, the less of a Sue you'll be. Savvy?"

"Oh, no. You did not just 'savvy' me!"

"I so totally did, salty wench!"

"Scurvy cur!"

Having reached their rooms, the teenagers nipped in for clean clothes. Carson raised an eyebrow as Darren leaned her sword against the wall, but did not comment. Two hot baths later, in which Tor threw a bar of soap over the partition at Candorien for singing "A Pirate's Life for Me" and was pelted in return with a dull razor (luckily, he ducked just in time), Carson sat by the window towel-drying her hair. Dressed once more in black and blue, Tor prepared carefully for his evening out. He belted on the sword – with permission this time – and spiked up his hair. It would not do to make a bad impression, especially if Tristan was right and Faramir did come.

"How do I look?" he inquired nervously, lacing up his boots.

"Gorgeous, as per usual, Peacock."

Rolling his eyes at the new nickname, Darren turned to survey her. "So what's your plan for the evening?"

"Didn't you hear me tell Tristan?" After running a comb through her short, tangled hair, the girl attacked it (her hair, not the comb) viciously with a towel. Darren winced as droplets of water were flung all over the place. "I have to dress up and play nicely at a court diner. Gag me with a red-hot poker. Oh, well. Gimli might be up for some mayhem. Speaking of that red-hot poker, would it be inappropriate for me to ram it up that spintry Berenglorion's" –

"Very." Tor snorted in amusement. "Has that ever stopped you?"

"Well…" There was peace for a brief period while she resumed combing out her disheveled mane. "Probably not, if I could commandeer a poker." More water went everywhere. "Do you think Legolas would help me?"

"Demon lady, yes. 'Char', no. They _are _related."

"So? Most murders are the work of close relatives," she informed him with the air of one relating a commonly known fact.

"Spouses, Candorien. Berenglorion and Legolas are not married."

"They could be!"

"I had no idea elves were gay." Darren studiously stared at his cuticles.

Eyes sparkling with mischief, Carson stood and checked her hair in a hand mirror. "They aren't supposed to be. I think Tolkien said something about it in canon… what I would give for a blow dryer…"

"So being gay is wrong here as well?"

"Only if you're an elf, I think. Otherwise we'd have thousands of Gary-Stus chasing Legolas. Mary-Sues are bad enough. We don't need more."

"Like you."

"Ouch. That hurt. Hey, will you help me dress? The maid-type thing, Elise, isn't here yet, and I really don't want to be late."

"Very well." He didn't sound happy about it.

Candorien retreated behind a screen to change into a tight, white chemise that covered her breast band. Over this went a looser teal blouse. She sucked in her breath to belt on a pair of fitted brown trousers that can to the tops of her boots, which showed signs of wear beneath their glossy veneer. After tucking the blouse into her pants, she came out from behind the screen for the hard part: her bodice. Like a prom dress, she needed assistance fastening it and could barely breathe while wearing it.

"I thought you hated corsets," Darren observed as she laced it up the front. "Now what am I supposed to do? It isn't very tight."

"It's a bodice, not a corset, love. And I've always wanted one of these. I just never had enough dinero at RenFest. Hold the strings and pull as I tighten."

"Ah." He watched with interest as Carson tightened the laces. Every time she created slack, he gave the strings a slight tug, cinching in his friend's waist. When the bodice would tighten no more, the girl instructed him to place one finger on top lace, holding it down while she tied the strings in a bow. As he did so, the door opened, and Elise the maid flounced in.

"Hello, Miss, I came to help you…. Whoaah."

"This is awkward," Darren hissed through clenched teeth. A dark flush blossomed on his cheekbones. Carson ignored the interruption and speedily finished with her bow.

"Thanks, love!" She stood on tiptoe to kiss Tor on the cheek. "How do I look?"

"Ravishing, in a mercenary type of way."

"Not like a Sue?"

"More like yourself…judge that how you will." Coughing as he caught sight of the still openmouthed maid, Darren moved both hands up a down, the first three fingers on each spread out, in the gesture that meant awkward in sign language. "I'll go meet up with Tristan. Behave yourself, sea hag."

Carson wrinkled her nose at him. "I'll try. Oh, hello, Elise. I'm glad you could make it."

Finally shutting her mouth, Elise crossed the room to join them. Darren fled. For the next fifteen minutes, Elise jabbered on about how Carson needed to be more careful. She had a reputation to uphold as a lady and Aragorn's ward. Rumors were already going around in the city about the roommates. Carson ought to be very careful and not make them worse.

Her chattering aside, Carson very much liked Elise. She was clever and witty. Like other maids, her head held a treasure chest of gossip, random bits of information (Candorien's favorite kind), and other knowledge. She was Tristan's younger sister and entertained Carson with stories that would no doubt have mortified the comely stable hand.

Although she had come to prepare Candorien for dinner, Elise did little real work, instead collapsing across one of the beds. Not that Carson cared. She much preferred to dress herself. After adding a tad bit of cosmetics and brushing her hair a couple of times, she was ready to go. All she could do now was wait for her friends to come fetch her for dinner.

Much to her audience's amusement, Elise waxed poetical over Tor's virtues. She was very much taken with him, as indeed were most of the maids. Carson had been right; being tall, dark, and handsome had won Darren fan-girls. Somehow she doubted he would be overjoyed at the news.

"You know," Elise giggled, "I wouldn't much mind if he wanted to help do up _my _bodice. Or undo it… I'm really not picky."

Hint as she might that Darren probably would not return her regard, Candorien could not stop her new friend from praising the perfection of his every follicle. It was getting to be too much for her to handle when someone knocked on the door.

"Implet, are you ready?" called Legolas.

"Got to go, Elise. We'll visit again tomorrow." Snatching her gold horse necklace, said implet hastened to the door. Fastening it about her neck, she tumbled out into the hallway.

"Easy, lass." Gimli steadied her as she tripped over her own feet and nearly fell. He looked nice in an evergreen ensemble with his mail shirt peeping through at the collar. Someone had taken the time to braid his beard; Carson quite liked the effect.

"Did you have trouble with _Her_?" the elf asked worriedly. As always, he was absolutely gorgeous. Carson loved him – liked she loved her neighbor's new kittens. It was impossible not to love Legolas; he was just that cute. Thankfully, the girl knew she could never have a crush on him.

_Lips that touch Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow's shall never touch mine…_ she supposed that also put Char out of the running, but when one desires to shove a sizzling poker up someone's colon, it is not a brilliant idea to kiss them.

"When do I not?" she laughed. "Am I presentable?"

"Ye're weaponless," Gimli grunted in a disapproving manner.

"Am not." She gestured to a dagger sheathed at her waist. The dwarf nodded, somewhat appeased. "Well, Legolas, do I meet standards?"

Legolas shook his head, pursing his lips. "You look like yourself, Candorien. And yes, you are quite presentable. Let us only hope your behavior is up to standard."

"Do I really misbehave that much?"

"Yes," her friends sighed together.

"Wince. How would you like me to act? Like MEKESSG?"

"Valar, no." Both elf and dwarf shuddered.

"Then how?"

"Your conduct is generally acceptable," Legolas admitted.

"Just no more stealin' my axe, ye little harridan."

"I promise."

"And no threatening others' lives or any other random acts of violence." The wood elf's green eyes gleamed nervously. "Swear, Candorien."

"Grr. Very well. I swear."

"Then let us go to dinner…" Legolas offered Candorien an arm, which she gracefully accepted, "my lady."

She gave him a smile of grateful pleasure. "Good. I'm starving."

"We know," Gimli commented dourly. "They can hear your stomach growling in Mordor."

* * *

Aragorn watched curiously as his ward entered the room escorted by two of his dearest friends. The King inhaled sharply at her outlandish garb. This was not what he had expected when he had authorized Lady Mary Elizabeth… Thingy to give Candorien lessons in deportment.

"Estel, she wears the necklace I gave her," Arwen pointed out. Her eyes sparkled at Candorien's unusual attire. Trust that girl to find a way to rebel without technically breaking protocol.

"My dear, she looks like a mercenary!"

"Polished mercenary, though." Èowyn took her seat on the other side of Arwen. Like the queen, she seemed more amused and pleased than upset by the teenager's outfit. "I like it."

"Faramir, help me," Aragorn groaned.

"Sorry, Majesty." Faramir held up hi hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I dare not contradict these nobles ladies. At any rate, Èowyn dresses much like that at home."

"Really?" asked Arwen in interest.

Blushing, Èowyn nodded. "Trousers are so much more convenient for riding and fighting than skirts. It would appear our young friend has discovered this on her own."

"If you lot refuse to help me," the King of Gondor and Arnor continued in a dour tone, "Candorien will turn into one of the men-at-arms and never be a fine lady."

"From what we know of her history, is it likely for her to be with us very long?" wondered Èowyn shrewdly. "She may not need to be a fine lady."

"I know," moaned Aragorn, "but it would be my life so much easier if she were."

Further down the table, Candorien was doing her utmost to behave. Hands folded neatly in her lap, she waited like a proper young lady for dinner to begin. When MEKESSG flounced in wearing a pale pink gown with a train longer than she was tall, Carson merely focused on her twisting hands. Gimli placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered words of comfort. Legolas went green and was forced to call for a glass of wine.

A servant brought it to him with a bow; the elf drained half his glass in one go. Then, with a look of slight regret, he handed the wine to Candorien.

"You need it as much as I do," he murmured. "Go on. Have some. This is the only time I will ever let you."

"He means it," Gimli added.

Staring bleakly into the plum liquid, Carson thought for a moment. Her mind made up, the girl sipped daintily from the glass. It was marvelous, warming her body and releasing her inhibitions. Still, common sense prevailed. After another sip, she gave the drink back to Legolas. "Thanks."

"Somehow I think we shall need more," the elf hissed as MEKESSG seated herself not far from them.

Somehow, Carson agreed.

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry for the horrid delay. I've been extremely busy, but now I have returned and promise triweekly updates, at the very least. (Which means once every three weeks, not three per week). As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, and flames will be used to make smores. **


	21. Alcohol and Interrogation

**Shinobu Weasley – Glad you enjoyed it.**

**Krys – My days are certainly busy… I'm not sure if they could get busier.**

**She Who Bakes French Cuisine – For all that explanation, I'm pretty sure some readers did not quite pick up on it.**

**Slayer3 – The mithril sporks are calling to Candorien.**

**AE – While Candorien's clothes are rather nice, five hours in a bodice is ruddy heck. I know. I've been there.**

**PippinBaggins – Here is another chapter. Bon appetit!**

**Disclaimer: I own a few names, character traits, and conversations. Not much else, however.**

* * *

"There you are!" Tristan called in relief. He left the shadows of the stable. "What kept you?"

"I almost got lost again," Tor admitted sheepishly.

"What? No!" Blue eyes glinting merrily, the stable boy expressed his sympathy. Tristan eyed his new friend. "Ah, excellent. You don't look like a noble, but I daresay the girls will chase you regardless."

"Some of the maids already have."

Tristan made a face of surprise. "Poor Tor. We shall be hunted together, then, eh?"

"What, they follow you as well?" It made sense.

"Oh, yes. Thankfully, now there are two of us poor hares. Let us pray we may flee the hounds."

Although he remained unsure if he liked being called a rabbit, Darren would do nearly anything to escape the maids' undesired attentions. "Agreed."

The young men shook hands on it and set off walking through the city in search of the Red Arrow. Tristan freely extolled its praises, commending the spirits and pastries. Every time they spotted a gaggle of girls, a detour was called for. Ducking into alleys and dashing down strange streets, Tristan led Tor on a merry impromptu tour of Minas Tirith. At last they arrived at the inn, stomachs grumbling.

The Red Arrow was one of the nicer taverns in the lower city. While it did have its fair share of buxom serving girls, the main room was far less smoky and dingy than Tor expected. Tristan led the way to a table in the darkest corner. Flirting expertly, he called the prettiest blue-eyed blonde over to them and ordered two mugs of beer.

"Will there be anything else for you, boys?" she purred, eyeing Tor speculatively.

"What's the special tonight, sweetheart?" Tristan's blue eyes sparkled as he made a grab for the blonde's hand.

"Hands off, hands off. I get in trouble for talkin' to the likes o' ye, lad. We 'ave beef stew, fresh bread, and apple pie for afters." The serving girl turned her beady gaze from Tor to Tristan. The dark lad being nowhere near as responsive to her charms. Rather than gazing at her, his brown eyes flicked warily about the inn.

"I'll have a little of everything. Tor?"

"The same." He still would not look at her.

"I take it they paid you recently?" The blonde turned her killer smile on Tristan. He grinned back, not dazzled in the least.

"O' course, Lia. Else I would not be able to visit you so freely."

"Hmph." The dark one's continued indifference was a thorn in Lia's side. She spun on one heel and stalked off, disappearing behind the bar.

"Well?"

"Are you asking my opinion on the girl?" For the first time since they had entered, Darren forced himself to focus on one subject: his dinner companion. Tristan's blue eyes held Tor's brown ones with slight humor.

"No, I want to know where the closest well is. Yes, I want to know that you think about Lia."

"She's a tart," Tor announced dourly.

Tristan howled with laughter. "You are quick to judge, my friend. Lia is a good girl; she just likes to tease a little bit."

"So it would seem," grumbled the other young man.

"Aw, Tor, give her a chance. You hurt her feelings earlier. If you think I can't recognize a miffed barmaid when I see one…" The redhead snickered.

"What can you have possibly done to upset any member of the fair sex?"

Spreading his hands in a picture of innocence, Tristan replied, "Oh, it wasn't what I did… more along the lines of what I didn't do. And you, mysterious stranger, how many hearts have you won?"

Darren smirked, pleased to have found another player in his favorite game of sarcastic innuendo. His next sally danced about the question but never answered it. Lia and a few other servings girls came and went several times at the young men bantered. Playful as it seemed, their joking was in deadly earnest. Friendly feelings aside, each jester was set on proving his superiority – or at the very least, his equality. This battle of wits would eventually be succeeded by a physical contest of some sort. Once they had pounded each other into the ground a few times, the young men could be friends. Until then, however, they were vicious as piranhas.

After a while, the verbal duel gave way to a question-and-answer session. Dipping chunks of nutty brown bread into the savory stew, the boys discussed families, dreams, adventures, and pet peeves. Tor trod a fine line between giving too much information and clamming up. Carson's story tended to change every five minutes, so he was often ambiguous about his antecedents.

After many jealous looks at the men of the Guard who trickled in for a mug of beer and a round of scuttlebutt, Tristan finally admitted that he wanted to become an errand rider for the King.

"I have the horse for it," he said in a low, quick voice, "and the riding skill. If I could attain such a position, Elise wouldn't have to work so hard. She could be something other than a maid. I would be able to provide her with a dowry when she married. My parents died in the war," he added in response to Tor's silent question. "I'm all Elise has. I just wish I could do more for her."

Tor said nothing; sympathetic silence was better than the wrong words, however well meant.

"Of course, you can probably do anything you want, eh?" Tristan did not mean to sound bitter, but the acrid emotion seeped into his words all the same. "What will you become, I wonder? Captain of all the hosts of Gondor? Or is that not challenge and honor enough for you?"

"Being the lady Candorien's bodyguard is challenge enough," Tor murmured slowly. He _was_ her bodyguard, though it was an implicit rather than explicit position. Best friend, bodyguard, babysitter… "As for honor, I believe it to be a task few kings capable of executing with competence."

Tristan flushed, mortified. "My apologies. How could I be so tactless? I did not mean to imply…"

"More beer!" Tor called, summoning one of the wenches with a mysterious smile and a raised eyebrow. "You may take our plates and bring this gentleman another mug, if you would be so kind." He tossed the girl a coin, still smiling.

His companion nodded in approbation but did not speak until the barmaid had refilled his tankard. "To you," he raised the beer, noting in silence how Tor turned his charm on and off at will. "So how is your lovely friend?"

"Candorien?" Ah, they had arrived here at last. "No doubt causing mayhem and murdering someone fool enough to get in her way. Not literally," he added as an afterthought. Tristan looked taken aback. "Still, she is quite the determined little minx."

"With a heart of gold?" Sarcasm had returned.

"Say rather of tarnished silver."

As the young men dissolved into fits of laughter, equilibrium was restored to their conversation. They were shocked back to sobriety when the door of the tavern opened and Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, strode in.

* * *

"Far longer than forever, I'll hold you in my heart," Candorien sang under her breath.

The feast was going very badly, even worse than she had expected. MEKESSG flirted with every male in the great hall while Gimli fingered his axe and muttered suggestively. Berenglorion's eyes had glazed over an hour before. Between the two of them, Legolas and Candorien had downed four glasses of wine. The girl prayed her drinking partner did not have mono.

"Just because you are bored does _not_ mean you have the right to utter tasteless romantic drivel," the elf in question murmured in her ear.

"What if I mean it?"

"So there is a girl – oops, guy!" MEKESSG tittered. She had consumed over half a dozen glasses of wine, yet Carson instinctively knew her nemesis's inebriation to be no more than a convenient act. "Who's the lucky feller?"

Candorien allowed herself a single glare of doom, poking weakly at the roast chicken on her plate with a fork. In a soft, dangerous voice, she grumbled about needing a mithril spork to eviscerate the bloody Sue with. Legolas and Gimli exchanged nervous looks.

"Be ye all right, lassie?" the dwarf wondered, unhanding his axe for the first time all evening. His question was answered by more growling noises. "Legolas… how long until this feast will end?"

"Eh? Oh, yes. A candlemark," Legolas replied, rather distracted. The sons of Elrond were mouthing code words and signaling to him from the dais. All of his concentration was required to decipher their message.

Carson and Gimli swung their heads around to watch the elves' antics and their friend's increasing frustration. The girl sniggered as Elladan mimed riding a horse but didn't lose it until Elrohir pretended to swim underwater. Even as she choked back giggles, Legolas made up his mind.

"Friends, we are retiring until the council." The wood elf stood and gestured for the other two to follow.

"I want to kill _Her_," sulked the teenager, refusing to move.

"If you come now, I will persuade Faramir to let you attend weapons practice tomorrow," the elf wheedled.

"I don't know about that…"

"I do not have time for your foolishness." Quite fed up, Legolas grasped the girl's elbow and pulled her to her feet. He dragged her from the hall, closely followed by Gimli.

Once out in the passageway, the trio disappeared into a small antechamber not far away. Legolas shoved the teenager away from him. Anger and annoyance blazed in his green eyes.

"Candorien, if you do not stop throwing tantrums and acting like a two-year-old brat, I am going to treat you like one." Ignoring her flabbergasted silence, the elf continued, "It is annoying and silly. I had thought more of you." He turned to Gimli. "The sons of Elrond want us to convene an impromptu discussion about current circumstances. They want to meet in your rooms, Gimli. Apparently we run the least risk of being overheard there. Now if you," Legolas rounded on Candorien once more, "are ready to act at least half your age, we will go meet them. Oh, and do not even consider acting infatuated around them; it is aggravating in the extreme. You only embarrass yourself, anyway."

With a maddening finality, Legolas led the way from the room. Seething, Carson followed. She could hardly believe his effrontery. The censured girl was still fuming when they arrived at Gimli's apartments.

Grumbling, the dwarf bustled about cleaning up the minor mess and setting out a few bottles of beer. Although she was by no means appeased, Carson quit giving Legolas the Evil Eye. She considered his criticism; a flush crept across her cheeks as she realized most of it was merited. Apparently the wood elf had forgiven her, for his manners were impeccable as he offered her a seat. His offer was no more than a well-couched offer, but as long as he was being nice again, Carson could deal.

Within a few minutes, Elladan and Elrohir slipped in through the half-open door.

"Mae govannen, my fellow conspirators," murmured Elladan, shutting the door neatly behind him.

"We are in such earnest?" Wariness gleamed deep in Gimli's brown eyes.

"Yes. Lady Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow is not what she pretends to be."

_No duh, Sherlock._ Regardless, Carson was perfectly willing to allow the others to draw their own conclusions about MEKESSG. Then she would reveal what she knew.

"Obviously," Legolas growled. "I have not forgotten her misdeeds, even if you have. What is she up to now?"

"There is no war with Harad," Elrohir spat bitterly. "They are preparing to fight a neighbor to the south, not us."

Quiet fell as his audience contemplated the implicit treachery he described. Outrage, distaste, and fear left traces on the five's faces.

"She wouldn't…" breathed Legolas.

Gimli agreed. "Not even _She_ would dare. It is impossible."

Candorien's sea-gray eyes narrowed. "Of course that is a great deal of information to confuse and data to corrupt, but that would not stop her. Who is the objective?"

For a moment they all stared at her, shocked by her acceptance of the horrid fact. Elrohir broke the silence.

"Astute. Yes, it is a horrendous trouble for her to control the information Aragorn and the rest of the citadel are receiving."

"The prize must be great, for her to go to such lengths," observed his brother. "After all, is she not a Mary-Sue?"

"You know 'Sues?" Carson was shocked, surprised, and disturbed.

"The library at Rivendell holds many mysteries. Father taught Elrohir and I about the evils of Mary-Sues when we left childhood. It was necessary for us to be on our guard."

"And you never saw fit to warn me?" Legolas demanded.

"Well, that _was_ a mistake," the elder son of Elrond conceded.

Curious, Gimli wondered, "What is the wench after, then?"

"Not Berenglorion, I think." Elrohir scratched the tip of his nose thoughtfully. "He isn't enough of a challenge for her."

"Is anyone?"

"Excellent point, Candorien. Elladan and I ought to be safe – we have had enough horror stories. Gimli is safe; she is blinded by a love of superficial, physical beauty. I think it must be Legolas."

Said elf changed colors for the worse. While pale skin is flattering on the elder children of Illuvatar, evergreen skin is most decidedly not. Gasping a few strangled words, Legolas collapsed into a chair.

"Wait," he mumbled, regaining the slightest bit of composure. "What if it isn't me at all? She hardly ever speaks to me. Could her target perhaps be Candorien?"

Carson looked wildly into the others' faces. Crazy as his statement sounded, they all seemed to believe it. And such unshakeable belief could well be the death of her happy existence in Middle-earth.

* * *

"Tor! I wondered where you were when I did not see you attending your lady at the feast." Faramir approached the two teenagers, a kind smile lingering in his eyes. "Introduce me to your friend?"

Eyebrows raised, Tor said nothing to the Man's first comment but did answer the question. "Tristan, this is my lord Faramir. Faramir, this is Tristan, one of the best horsemen I have ever seen."

"Having ridden with Legolas and myself – not to mention that centaur Candorien – you ought to have some idea of what makes a good rider. Not that Candorien rides remarkably well; my riding instructor would turn in his grave to see her. One cannot deny her tenacity, however."

"That's putting it kindly," Darren snickered, still galled by Faramir's reference to Carson as 'his' lady. Things were going a bit too far. The others laughed.

"Indeed. May I sit with you?"

"Be my guest." Tristan was far too disconcerted by his idol's closeness to say anything.

"I will." Faramir pulled up a chair and ordered a beer. While waiting for a group of old friends, the Steward of Gondor chattered away with the two young men. At first it seemed innocent, but gradually Tor realized he was being pumped for information. A thousand questions spilled from Faramir's lips; he demanded to know about a million separate subjects. Although the interrogation extended to both boys, much of it revolved around Candorien and Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow.

Faramir watched the young men's faces carefully. The dark one, Tor, had caught on to the game, yet he continued to be candid. Tristan, the stable boy, managed a quite accurate character sketch of the girl he had met only that morning. Her follies had not eluded him as they did so many others. Though Faramir liked the girl, nasty suspicions blossomed in his mind.

"One moment," he interrupted gently as Tor and Tristan related the account of the disastrous 'lady lessons'. "You mean to say Candorien became furious and passed out?"

"Not exactly. Car – Candorien told me that everything went red first."

"Valar… Tor, Tristan, do either of you know what a berserker is?"

"No," the boys answered as one.

"Come to weapons practice tomorrow, and you will learn. My guard, Éowyn, and I train at nine o'clock sharp. I hope to see you both there. Now I beg you will excuse me – my party has arrived."

The lie heavy on his lips, Faramir rose and crossed the tavern. He sat in another shadowy corner, waving away the barmaids. The most dangerous enemy ever to threaten his King (with possible exception of Sauron) was repeatedly demonstrating an unhealthy interest in the most determined girl-child he had ever met (with the possible exceptions of his wife and the Queen). A girl, no less, with the telltale characteristics of a berserker. Candorien must be kept away from Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow at all costs. For if she was not, Faramir would be forced to kill her as well, and he knew Éowyn would not like that.

**

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Author's Note: Sorry for being a couple days late… hope my darling readers enjoy the chapter! Reviews are appreciated, and flames will be used to bake apple pies.


	22. Fluffly Pink Bunny

**AE – Men can be pigs, indeed. Sometimes I wonder if Circe didn't have the right idea after all…**

**Slayer3 – She will… I think.**

**Ames – Just so you know, I say "So it would seem" all the time now. It's a perfect line.**

**Fryer of French Food – Sadly, I escaped my cage, but now I willingly clamber back into it. The muse is in control.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**A/N: Ok, so maybe it's turning into four-week updates??**

Candorien blinked wildly from one thoughtful face to the next.

"Surely," she began with great trepidation, "surely you cannot believe this."

All four males stared at her and said nothing.

"I mean," the girl's voice trembled, "why would she be after me?"

"You know," Legolas commented in a dry voice, "I believe I told you temper tantrums and infatuations were forbidden. I never expected you forcing me to do the same thing about dishonesty. Candorien, tell the truth!" His last words rang with power.

For a moment, Carson ignored him. She turned her head to escape from the horrible bright elf-eyes. No one spoke. They waited patiently for her inevitable confession.

When the girl broke, it was violent. She stomped one foot, dropping a Gnommish expletive.

"You have me, Thranduilion. Yes, I know I am the Sue's object. Not an object of romance," she mimed vomiting, "but rather one of dominion. She – Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow, that is – wants to make me like her and under her control. So," Carson wondered, regarding their stony faces, "which is it to be – the stake or the gallows?"

"Lad, ye ought to 'ave warned her against histrionics," Gimli chortled. Tears streamed down his cheeks into his beard. "Candorien, ye should 'ave been a Player."

"Well said," Elladan agreed, though his expression was not quite so genial. "Child, we have no intention of hurting you. We want to hurt _Her_; you can help us."

"And then what? An exorcism?"

The corners of Elladan's mouth twitched. "Only if absolutely necessary. You could prove to be our greatest weapon."

"Or our most dangerous liability," Legolas growled.

"Play nicely with the little Sue," teased Elrohir. "Brother, what exactly is our plan?"

"If Candorien will give us her allegiance…"

"Anything that makes _Her_ life harder is good with me." Teetering on the brink of indecision, she warned, "I cannot promise anything more."

They waited with catlike intensity for her to explain herself.

"Darn it, don't give me those looks! I am not willing to sign away my life or the safety of my friends – and I am responsible for Tor. I must take care of him." Carson clenched her hands in anger.

"What of your friends here? Does their safety not matter? Would you let MEKESSG injure them? Could you stand by and do nothing as she conquered them one by one? As she winds her arms about Berenglorion's waist and plants scarlet lips on Legolas's" –

"That is enough!" Legolas leapt up, eyes burning. "Elrohir, you go too far."

Springing to his side, Candorien massaged tense shoulders. "Easy, tiger. Calm down. I will never let Her Yuckiness touch you again."

Legolas promptly jerked free and trod on her foot. "Your assistance is not required, desired, or in any way necessary."

A verbal brawl ensued. Gimli tossed in unhelpful comments while Carson and Legolas insulted one another. Communicating in that strange way unique to twins, the sons of Elrond sat quietly in the shadows. Their gray eyes locked together for a long while. The argument finally exhausted, the two elves rose to face the panting participants.

"We all hate the Sue," Elrohir placated.

Gimli interrupted him. "Look here, elf. More dawdling will make us late for the council and accomplish nothing. How can we get rid of her easiest?"

"Kill her," the bickering two grumbled darkly.

"Aragorn will not condone murder, tempting though it sounds," pointed out Elladan. "We must drive her away instead.

"So you're telling me I can't set Her on fire?"

Gimli guffawed; Legolas nodded fervently. The twins choked, astounded. A quick glance at the girl's features assured them she was in deadly earnest. Swallowing deeply, Elrohir informed Candorien that she was by no means to _ever _set _anyone_ on fire. After all, it simply was not civilized.

Before any means of eradicating the Sue could be decided upon, however, the hour appointed for the council arrived. The conspirators broke apart at Aragorn's study. Carson took an empty seat beside Eowyn. The old friends smiled at one another, many secret thoughts revealed in their questing eyes. Gimli also sat by Eowyn. He muttered something in a guttural tone about the Glittering Caves.

As for the Elves, they stood languid in a corner. If he must be in a room with a Sue, Legolas sought to be as far from her as the dimensions of the place allowed. A moment later the last of the councilors swept in. The door swung into place with a soft thud. Council time began.

* * *

Darkness shrouded the halls. A form stumbled along the passage, talking to itself in a low voice. Suddenly it halted, fumbled at a doorknob, and disappeared in a patch of blackness.

Carson halted just inside the doorway. Stale beer, sweat, and other pungent odors assaulted her olfactory organs. Reeling from the stench, she buried her nose in the neckline of her chemise and scurried to the window. Slow, heavy breathing resonated in the thick air. So Darren was in. He had neither waited up for her nor left a candle burning. Much worse – to Candorien's way of thinking – he had been drinking.

At last she succeeded in opening the window. Cool, clean air penetrated the room, driving away the noxious smell of moments before. The girl inhaled and exhaled slowly, her face tilted up to the moon. When the bedroom's atmosphere grew tolerable, she went to her bed. Pausing only to kick off her shoes, Carson turned in all standing. Although her mind churned with malcontent, her body was far too exhausted to accept much thinking. Troubled, she slipped into chaotic dreams.

* * *

"Make haste, my fair lady! We must capture the Great Animal!"

"Yes, my love!"

For some unknown reason, Carson was dressed in a slinky gown, riding beside a fop. She hated fops. And slinky gowns. And hunting things. Not to mention riding sidesaddle.

_I have freaky dreams, _she thought, as the "Great Animal" came into view. It was a rabbit. A bunny to be exact. A giant, fluffly pink bunny with translucent wings. She blinked. _Wow. Maybe Legolas was right about wine being bad for me._

The bunny was hopping away. Her fop urged his mount on, eager for the chase. Carson followed. Suddenly, the bunny wheeled around and winked at the girl.

"Save me, o fluffly pink bunny! This fop is boring me to tears!"

Before the fop could react, the bunny bounded over to Carson. She tore slits on both sides of the slinky dress and clambered atop the saddle.

"Geronimo!" she shrieked, leaping onto the bunny's shoulders. "Farewell, your foppiness!"

As the giant fluffly pink bunny cantered away into the forest, Carson pondered. Even by her standards, this dream reeked of the abnormal. Slinky dresses and winged mammals tended to appear only once a month – and the Greek goddess dream had shown up last weekend. So what was this little darling doing here?"

"What are you doing here, you little darling?" she cooed, patting the bunny's shoulder. "Why are you – Whoaah!"

Without preamble, the fluffly pink bunny took to the skies. Flapping its powerful translucent wings, the bunny rose higher and higher. Upon contemplation, Carson concluded riding a fluffly pink bunny with translucent wings was not quite as fun as it sounded. The bunny simply did not maintain a constant velocity or altitude. With every wing stroke, the rabbit's body rose and fell unevenly. It was heck on one's posterior. Candorien felt positively nauseous.

The girl wrapped her arms around the fluffly pink bunny and refused to look down. While the Earth shrank beneath them, rabbit and teenager flew over verdant forests, craggy mountains, a great treeless plain, and wide, sluggish rivers. Exhaustion and lightheadedness came and went as the bunny gained and lost altitude. Slowly the bumpy ride lulled Carson into a doze. Her thoughts crawled rather than galloped. Awareness faded until the bunny made and unexpected movement. She lost her hold on the rabbit and hurtled through the air.

* * *

Candorien sat up in bed, gasping for breath. The terror of the fall lingered in her pounding heart, her dilated pupils, and the icy sweat on her neck. Tor's heavy breathing reassured her. _It was just a dream, just a dream. Nothing to worry about. Calm down, girl, calm down, _she told herself. _Easy._

She got out of bed and stumbled to the window, basking in the cold night air. Gradually her heartbeat slowed. The dream was not real. She was alive. Everything would be okay. More than okay, actually, if her roommate would just stop snoring. When at last peace returned, Carson lay back down and closed her eyes. _Just a moment, _she promised herself. _Just a moment, and I'll be in a dreamless sleep._

* * *

She was falling again. Down, down, down. The ocean roared, blue-green and fearless beneath her. A tiny sailing ship bobbed on the water like a tempestuous toddler's bath toy. Carson did not know if she wanted to hit the ship or not. Still she fell. As she came closer, the ship grew larger. Then she was amidst the rigging, bouncing off sails and yardarms. The girl curled into a ball. Valar, contact with the hard deck was going to hurt.

Seconds before she crashed, strong arms caught her.

"You are developing a bad little habit of falling from the sky," Will murmured, setting the shaking girl gently on the deck.

"Mmph," she groaned. She could not stop trembling. Falling like that petrified her. Movement was impossible, at least for a while.

The captain crouched down until he was eye-to-eye with the sitting teenager. After a weary ironic half-smile, she buried her head in her lap. Will rose. Turning, he gazed off at the sea.

"I hate falling," Carson mumbled once a minute or so had passed. "I hate being helpless and scared for so long – unable to save myself or anyone else." Then, grudgingly, "Thanks…for catching me."

"Not at all. You would have made a terrible hole in my ship," said the man in a casual voice. "Are you able to stand now?"

"I… I think so." The sixteen-year-old attempted to get up and failed. "Then again, perhaps not."

"Tch." He extended a hand and pulled her to her feet. "There."

They stood together for but a moment, purposefully not looking at one another. Carson struggled with her confusion. At last she stepped back to voice it.

"Why are you being nice to me?" she demanded, foregoing diplomacy in favor of answers.

Will sighed. "It is very hard to hate you always. I would rather conserve my emotions for useful things."

"So I'm not useful?"

"You are…" he sighed again, "perpetually irritating. From now on, I am going to treat you with amused indifference. I will not allow you to bother me."

"Oh, really? Nothing I do from this point on will bother you?" Carson smiled. If nothing she did would ever annoy Will, the possibilities were endless. The girl took a step closer. Her smile morphed into an evil grin.

"Yes. I will never be bothered by you again." The pirate didn't seemed as convinced this time. On reflection, he knew Carson's insane powers might indeed cause him great discomfort.

"So, theoretically, I could sing very grating songs, and you'd be okay with it, right?" She closed in on his predatorily.

"Right," Will spat through gritted teeth. He was beginning to regret thinking aloud.

"Well, then… Tag, you're it!" Carson slapped his shoulder playfully and darted away. She danced just out of arms' reach, silently taunting him, daring the man to play.

To his surprise, Will really did not mind. He understood the girl's impulsiveness, her need for random action. Tag actually sounded fun. Growling deep in his throat, the captain sprang at her.

With a shriek of feigned terror, Carson leapt back. She sprinted for the ladder and scrambled down from the poop deck. Pivoting up over the rail, Will took a short cut. The pirate landed, knees bent, and straightened out of a crouch even as his quarry's foot reached the bottom rung.

"You can't escape, Carson," he growled, advancing on her.

"Oh, yes, I can." On impulse, the girl dived to the side. She rolled across the deck and finally landed in an uncontrolled sprawl behind the windlass. Dizzy and disoriented, Carson stood. "Ha ha. You can't catch me!"

"Oh, can't I?"

They danced around the windlass. Amusement gleamed in Will's eyes. He had not played the irresponsible teenager in so long… Neither had Carson, he realized. Beneath their tag game lurked a darker, more complex pretense. Carson, he saw, must believe in lighthearted happiness, in peace and sunshine and inner contentment. Like all other human creatures, she yearned to love and be loved. The only difference lay in method. Most folk went a few cities away to find fulfillment and purpose. Carson, however, blazed through the Realms, destroying and healing in equal measure. Her desires lay at cross-purposes. Adventure and insanity contended with security and normalcy. No wonder the creature was so paradoxical.

As for himself, Will was thoroughly sick of the gloomy, smelly dead. He longed for light and laughter, to look into warm, expressive eyes and hear witty remarks from something other than a former rival. At present, however, Carson was laughing too hard for wit. Gasping for breath, she stared in shock as the man walked right through the wooden windlass.

Will smiled. Being Captain of _The Flying Dutchman_ – the undead captain, moreover – occasionally had its advantages. The ability to stun Carson would certainly be considered one of them.

"Tag." He tapped her lightly on the shoulder. "That means you're it."

Dazed, the girl forced herself to blink several times. "Whoah. Never, ever do that again – please?" Carson felt distinctly queasy. "Yeah, that was _not_ expected." Staggering slightly, she found her way to a cannon and collapsed atop it. "Right… oh, I feel ill."

Genuinely worried, he strode over to her. "Are you all right?"

Carson poked him in the side. "Tag, you're it!" She bounded away, laughing merrily.

_Not for long, _Will thought, chasing the girl past his startled crew. Having heard the sound of cheerful voices, the sullen men ran up to the deck. Here, between the cold gray sky and the hauntingly beautiful sea, was the domain of their stern captain. Eyes full of loss and longing, he brooded and spoke little, even to his first mate. Although he performed his task impeccably, for long months now his dislike of his duties had grown obvious. The crew was flummoxed to say the very least at the sight of their grim master hunting a nimble girl-child and acting the child himself.

"Got you!" Will cried out, tackling Carson. The silly expressions of the crew went unnoticed as the two wrestled. Using all her tricks, Carson wriggled and writhed to free herself. Two minutes into the struggle, however, Will caught her arm and twisted – not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to warn.

"You win," she whimpered.

Promptly he released her and stood. Carson accepted a hand up without resentment.

"Might I ask you something?" she requested tentatively, rubbing her pained wrist.

Will ran a hand through his wavy hair before answering. "Go ahead." He sounded weary.

"Where are we? I've never dreamed this before."

"You are in my dream, little Sue."

"Oh. Wait – I'm not a Sue, and I didn't want in your dream."

Her words brought a thoughtful frown to his lips. "I certainly did not summon you – though it was a nice little game."

_What are you playing at, Master Turner? _Carson wondered. _Stop being so mercurial. Like me or hate me – just pick one, will you?_

She said nothing aloud, however, but merely watched the pirate and her former crush with moderate curiosity. The shades of the crew – nothing but illusions created by Will's imagination – thoroughly tidied and scrubbed the _Dutchman_.

"Carson," Will hesitated, then looked deep into her gray eyes. "I need you to stay away from me, okay?"

Confused, Carson titled her head to one side.

"Listen…my ship is not a place for the living – and this is the third time you've been hear. You're breaking sacred rules with every decision you make. Entertaining though you may be, each visit of yours destroys our protection against outside magic – Sues especially, since you are one. Just… do not come again. Do not linger in my Realm. Even now, great forces gather to punish the impudent upstart." He clenched his hands at his sides; the knuckles were bone-white. "Go. Leave now and never come back."

"I – I don't understand." But, alas, she understood only too well.

"Go, Carson. Now," Will ordered, turning away in a final gesture of rejection.

* * *

Shivering, Carson drew her cloak about her chilled shoulders and paced to the window. She scrambled onto the casement. Legs folded beneath her, the girl twisted anxious hands in her lap. Glistening tears streamed down fevered cheeks. Born of joy, sorrow, fear, and frustration, the pearly drops soaked her skin and tunic.

Startled from sleep, the watched in the bed observed the forlorn figure, illuminated by pale moonlight, and did nothing.

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry that took so darn long! My apologies! I have three or more chapters written in my notebook - the only difficulty is finding time to type them. Finals are next week, so hopefully after then I'll be able to squeeze in more updates. As always, reviews are appreciated, and flames will be used to roast Sues at the stake.**

**Ever yours,**

**AiH**


	23. Contemplation

**Author's Note: My apologies for not updating in 3+ months. Let me explain…no, there is too much. Allow me to sum up. I've been focusing on music and my AP classes. I just never had time to sit down at the computer and write. Which means I have six or seven chapters in my notebook that will be posted as soon as I can type them.**

**Disclaimer: I used to think I owned the plot bunny…now I ear the plot bunny owns me.**

* * *

Quick, darting sunlight pierced the rosy veil of closed eyelids. Carson lifted her head slowly. Her neck ached, and her legs had cramped up in the long night. Wincing, she attempted to climb down from the window and fell. Once on the floor, the girl convulsed until her muscles quit complaining. Then she limped to her bed.

Dawn had passed; the bed across from her was empty.

_I guess he left me,_ Carson thought, massaging her calf. _Oh, Valar, I have learned my lesson. No more falling asleep in confined spaces. Ow…this hurts. Charley Horse, go away! Wait – why is it called a Charley Horse? It does not resemble a horse, nor does it remind me of anyone named Charley. Oh, never mind. I'll Google it when I get home. Now, where is that dratted friend of mine?_

Slightly annoyed, she changed clothes and slung her quiver over one shoulders. When it became obvious Darren had filched her sword, the girl's annoyance multiplied a hundredfold. Brow furrowed, she stalked out of the room.

* * *

Hasufel greeted his mistress with an eager whinny. Grumbling to herself, Carson hopped on his back. She placed a hand on his warm, smooth neck and squeezed his sides gently with her calves. The gelding walked sluggishly out of his stall. Then the pressure on his barreled increased. Hasufel tossed his head, resisting the mounting force. At last it became too much; he took off at a fast canter, hooves clattering noisily on the cobblestones.

Carson clenched handfuls of tangled mane. For a few seconds she regretted her haste and impatience. This ride would have been far easier with tack, but then again, she was not in the mood of ease. The girl needed a challenge – a hard, difficult challenge – to sort out her thoughts and emotions.

Horse and rider galloped through the city passing silent houses of the dead, laughing children playing in the streets, gossiping women returning from the market, and men of the guard on their way to the walls. With a shouted password, Candorien rode through the final massive gate. They veered off the path, aiming for a slight hillock where the grass grew green and long. Nervous, Hasufel skirted a great black patch of ground.

Once at the hillock, Carson slid off the gelding. She knelt beside the mound.

_Faithful servant yet master's bane,_

_Lightfoot's foal, swift Snowmane_

Closing her eyes, she went back. Fires burned; low voices shouted. Her legs clenched the sides of a bolting warhorse. Terror filled every cell of her being, conquered only by a fierce determination. Men died beneath the morning sun. Great creatures screamed in their death throes – mumaks and oxen, horses and a fell beast. Jaunty standards fell, cut down by bright steel. It was a world of noise, death, and pain, and it claimed her completely.

Carson rocked slowly back on her heels, a single tear leaking from her shut eyes. She forced herself into the insanity and made herself one with the agony of thousands. In the chaos, the girl finally spotted herself, protected yet allowed to struggle, scared yet in control. She went to that person, fell into the mindset of another, discovered her center. And then Candorien was grounded. Peace came to her troubled mind. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Suddenly, her eyes opened. Purpose shone in their gray depths. With another deep breath, Candorien rose. A single soft word brought Hasufel to her side. She mounted as easily as an elf. They cantered in circles. Carson's muscles protested the bareback riding, but she ignored them. The time had come for such feeble objections to be put away.

Hasufel stumbled. The girl flew over his head. She rolled away and lay panting in the green grass, staring blankly up at the cerulean sky. Her gelding lipped her hair gently, then he wandered off in search of more tasty nibblings. Returning to her center, Carson sighed. The sun warmed her skin, and the grass was cool and soft beneath her head. It would be easy, so very easy, to fall asleep. Instead, she retreated to her new center, sinking quickly through layers of consciousness.

_Who am I?_

The thought reverberated throughout her being. Who was she, indeed? Carson, Candorien, or a little bit of both? Deeper she fell, past the lies and masks and pretenses. The battle for her soul could not be won until she understood what soul exactly she was fighting for. Carson came closer and closer to the truth. She opened locked doors and aired her darkest secrets. Finally she drew near the inner mirror and caught her first glimpse of the shadowy figure within. Carson advanced. She had to discover the answer to her question.

"Milady?"

Startled, the girl glanced up to meet the carefully courteous gaze of the Steward of Gondor. Annoyance flooded her. She had been so close.

"Yes, my lord Faramir?"

"Erm, what, pray tell, are you doing down there?"

"I was thinking." Carson allowed the mask to slip so he could catch a glimpse of her frustration.

"I beg your pardon. Shall I leave you so you may continue?"

"No, it is too late now." For the shadowy image had slipped away the moment he spoke like cool water cupped in her hands. The girl stood, calling Hasufel softly. "Where are you off to this fine morning, my lord?"

"In search of you, actually." Faramir watched the little centaur mount and wondered about her solitary thoughts. "You were missed at breakfast."

"I see." Had she truly been gone so long? Was breakfast already done and past? "My apologies for your disturbance. I ought to have left a message."

"You did," he said amicably. "Word of your passing sprang from many tongues throughout the city. A fey rider on a fey horse, riding elf-style. Aragorn was simply curious as to your exact whereabouts, and so I came are you hungry?"

"A bit." Beneath that friendly veneer lurked powerful scrutiny. Aware of his observing glance, Candorien felt increasingly nervous.

"Here. They made me promise to bring you something." Smiling, Faramir took a small bundle wrapped in a handkerchief from his saddlebag. He tossed it to her. Carson opened the package, then wolfed down the biscuit, cheese, and sausage it contained. Untroubled by her voraciousness, the man continued, "Madam, would you care to come to weapons practice with my guard and myself?"

"I need to spar," Candorien mused, half to herself. "What could it hurt?" There was no chance now of recalling the figure in the mirror. "Lead on, my lord."

Gasping, Carson struggled to her feet once more. It had been ages since her body had taken such punishment.

"Again," Faramir ordered, his tone cold.

The girl forced herself to face this next opponent. For the last hour and a half, Faramir had thrown guardsman after guardsman at her. At first the matches were easily won, but soon she prevailed only by the skin of her teeth. Sheer will power alone had gotten her through the last one. Every muscle throbbed; her bones ached. Sweat glistened on her brow, stained the underarms of her tunic, and streamed down her back. Locks of soaked, matted hair obscured her vision. Not even fencing camp had been so extreme.

Carson saluted her new foe, touching the borrowed sword to her eyebrow. Like several of the others, he wore a mask. Still, no amount of fabric could prevent her from recognizing him. With a gentle curse, Candorien settled into the guard position and waited for her best friend to attack.

Even as he began the duel with a high strike, she knew it would be a dirty match. They could night fight fair and beat each other; it had not happened in six months. Ordering her pain to shut up, Carson blocked, parried, and thrust. The familiar rhythm of fighting Tor lulled her into a false security.

Her inattention betrayed her. Darren knocked the girl down far too easily. He knelt on her chest, blade touching the exposed tan skin of her throat.

"Surrender, Sue?" he hissed in a husky voice. Malice gleamed in the eyeholes of his mask. "Not even good enough to last five minutes…" He pressed the sword against her windpipe. Carson felt its keen edge biting into her neck and was reminded of another blade, another pair of dangerous eyes. "You make me sick," Darren spat.

"Enough!" called Faramir, conveniently missing the thin scarlet line on Carson's throat. "Again! Candorien, try harder this time!"

Angry, hurt, and bewildered, the sixteen-year-old picked herself up. She squared off against Tor, galled by the sight of _her_ sword in _his _hand.

"Scum," the young man growled. He tossed his mask to one side. Never before had Carson seen his features contorted with such anger. "Come on. Try." Then he attacked her.

This time, Carson held her own. Finding some unused wellspring of cunning and strength, she outfoxed her wily opponent. Clang! His sword fell to the floor. She snatched it up.

"That the best you can do?" Tor taunted, taking her abandoned weapon. "Pitiful attempt, slattern."

It was the outside of enough. Carson screamed in fury and charged him. Sword a steel blur, she forced him into a corner. Rage blazed in her gray eyes. The world became tinted scarlet.

Darren sensed the change in his friend immediately. For a moment her regretted pushing her so far, but then there was no time for thought. Candorien fought mercilessly, like a wild animal. All sanity had left her eyes, replaced instead by a madness so complete he doubted anyone could break it. After using a few unorthodox kicks and blows, Tor gained the upper hand. But the power of his friend's insanity could not be undone.

Out of nowhere, her foot landed in his stomach. The young man fell to his knees. Carson kicked him in the small of the back; he collapsed on the floor of the salle. She allowed her sword tip to dance across him, flicking from place to place in search of the spot that could cause the most exquisite agony.

"Stand off, Candorien!" Faramir ordered. "Stand off, I say!"

The girl shot him a cool glance but did not remove her sword.

"I'd take that as a no," murmured Tristan who leaned against the wall, watching the entire affair.

Darren pleaded, "Someone get her off me. Please." His voice broke on the last word.

"Candorien!" Faramir was yelling again. "Step away from him!"

Carson glared at the Steward, eyes clouded with crimson, mind gloriously blank.

"Candorien." Èowyn spoke at last, her low melodious voice a sharp contrast with those of the others. "Relax, Candorien. Be at peace." The shieldmaiden strode to the distraught girl and pried the sword from her iron grip. Tossing it to one side, she put an arm about the girl's shoulders. Slowly, Èowyn led her with halting steps to the door of the salle. Once there, the tall woman turned. "Shame," she said quietly. "Fie on you all. What right have you to push the child so far?"

"Èowyn," her husband began, "I was merely trying to…"

A stern glance cut him off. "I am ashamed," she continued in her soft tirade. "You call yourselves her friends and yet treat her so badly. Can you truly fault her for a loss of control? Come now, Candorien."

Out in the cool morning air, the flush gradually faded from Carson's cheeks. Her madness and the red haze drained away. Turning from Èowyn, she gazed out over the walls, hands clenched into trembling fists at her sides.

"Angry?" the older woman prompted, not unkindly.

"Furious," she choked through gritted teeth.

"Walk with me." As it was not a request, Carson could not refuse. A few moments of silence passed as they left the salle and turned towards the tower of Ecthelion. Then, "How are you feeling?"

"Embarrassed to have made such a fool of myself. It was not my plan to cause controversy when I awoke this morning. They kept goading me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Faramir thinks you may be a berserker." Èowyn snorted and shook her head at such foolishness. "Men. The brilliant tactician decided to bring you to the breaking point. I fear it worked all too well."

Carson mulled this information over in silence. She wanted a bath, to soak and pamper her injured muscles, and then to spend the afternoon curled up in the library with a thick book.

"Thanks," she mumbled at last. "Thank you for rescuing me from myself."

Èowyn shrugged. "We are sisters, you and I. Both fearing cages, both longing to be free. Beware, my friend. It is our self-imposed prisons we find hardest to break out of. My husband means well, but he does not understand you like I do. Else he would never have acted so high-handedly." They had arrived at Carson's door. "Will I see you at dinner tonight, little sister?"

Carson forced an unconvincing smile. "Perhaps."

Tentatively, Èowyn patted the girl on the shoulder. "It is going to be all right, Candorien. Get some rest. Things will seem less dark when you are less tired."

As soon as Èowyn vanished around the corner, Carson slipped into the bathing room. Going to the furthest cubicle, she drew the curtains tight about the porcelain bathtub and disrobed. Carson did not think; she poured scalding water into the tub. Sinking into the hot bath, the girl relaxed. Her muscles slowly unknotted themselves. Still, Candorien could not linger overlong in the bath. Within twenty minutes, she climbed out of the bath. A servant had left her a big fluffy towel and a change of clothing.

Pleasantly surprised by the present, the girl donned the charcoal dress. The shadowy fabric felt amazingly soft on her skin. Pausing only long enough to snatch her knapsack, Carson padded off to the library.

Shelves groaned under the weight of gargantuan tomes. The room smelt of parchment and old leather. Dust blanketed a few of the taller bookcases. Moving quickly between rows of books, Carson made nary a sound. Eventually she located the object of her search and curled up in a comfortable armchair beneath a high window. The teenager pulled her iPod from her bag; soon the angelic voice of Josh Groban crooned in her ears.

Notebook balanced precariously on her lap, Candorien drew a few elves. She allowed her pen to wander, and it sketched scores of horses, fluffly pink bunnies with translucent wings, and pirate ships.

_What is going on with me?_ Carson wondered as she scratched out a very bowlegged Ent. _Why can't I focus? Why did I get so angry?_

_Immaturity?_ suggested her Voice of Reason.

_That can't be all of it._ Absentmindedly, the girl inked a tragic unicorn, its wide eyes full of sadness. _It explains a lot, but not everything._

_Bad genes?_

_That seems more plausible. No, I just don't get this._ Frustrated, she set aside her notebook.

"A beautiful and blinding morning, the world outside begins to breathe…" As always, Josh's soft singing soothed the flummoxed thinker.

"If I died while listening to his voice, I would be a happy girl," Carson mumbled to herself. Slowly she gave in to the perfect lullaby. Her head lolled onto one gray-clad shoulder, and she slept.

* * *

**Author's Note: As always, reviews are appreciated, and flames will be used to improve my writing.**


	24. Trapped

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to someone other than myself. =P**

* * *

"Carson, darling, wake up. Come on, sea hag, dearest."

A gentle hand touched her cheek, and another shook her shoulder slightly.

Carson shivered, shuddered, and finally opened her eyes. "Oh. It's you." Her brow furrowed. "Go away."

Darren bent over the chair in which his friend had slumbered. Face twisted with remorse, he sued for forgiveness. "I'm sorry, Car. I don't know what came over me."

"Oh?" She struggled to sit up properly in her chair. Eyebrows raised, the girl offered one last chance for explanation.

"Well, yes, I do, but must I admit it?"

Carson gave him the Look.

"I wanted to help Faramir," he burst out. "And you've been such a prima donna lately…call it Pax? Please?"

Sniff. "Very well. Pax it is. I apologize for being a prima donna, but I am _not _sorry for trouncing you."

"I wouldn't expect you to be, sea hag. Up now."

Extending a hand, Tor pulled her to her feet and then caught up her knapsack. Candorien eyed him warily. A few insulting comments had stuck with her; forgiving and forgetting were not quite the same thing, after all.

"Car, I was a jerk, and I'm sorry. I should have said what I did. I deserve to be punished, yet I think I know how to make things up to you."

With a mischievous grin, Darren tossed his friend easily over one shoulder. After thrashing about and ordering, "Let me down!" several times, Candorien abandoned herself to her miserable fate.

"You know," she mentioned conversationally, "this is very indecent. The court would be scandalized."

"I really don't care," Tor announced in a cheerful tone. "Good evening, sir," he said to the librarian politely. The wizened old man stared then shrugged, accepting the odd occurrence as a natural part of life.

The young man strode through the passages and hallways, singing pleasantly under his breath. Since pounding his shoulders proved to be of no avail, Carson growled instead.

"Where are we going?"

"I am taking you to Gimli's room. There is time for a late supper yet, if you're hungry."

_Rawr, _grumbled Carson's stomach loudly. Her cheeks flamed.

"I'll take that as a yes, shall I?"

"Mmph. What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock. Someone took a very long nap."

"That wouldn't be me, would it?"

"It _is_ you, goose. Legolas and Gimli got worried when you skipped dinner and asked me to find you. Other than Faramir and Tristan, they're pretty much the only people talking to me at the moment."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Tor set his friend down and looked into her eyes. "Apparently making you angry has put me out of favor."

"Meh. I deserved to be knocked down. I have no quarrel with that. The name-calling, however…"

Darren had the good sense to hang his head. "I apologize. To dinner?"

Carson eyed him skeptically. "Okay. Just don't pick me up again, savvy?"

"Of course I savvy. I thought you enjoyed piggy-back rides, sea hag."

"I do." She punched him playfully on the shoulder. "But not while I'm wearing a dress."

"Truth. By the way, I like that dress on you. The color is very flattering. It matches your eyes."

"Thanks." Candorien accepted his outstretched arm, and they proceeded to Gimli's quarters and a late night supper.

_

* * *

Steely fair, my dear one. An iron lily. Do they realize the great forces we tangle with? We are apart from them, you and I, little sister. Can their minds ever grasp our greatness?_

A slender form slipped from the shadows. Hooded and cloaked, the figure paced silently down the passage, back the way the other two had come.

_I know you, Carson dearest. You have caught on to me, and perhaps I have been too obvious. This knowledge of yours is dangerous. Very well. Since persuasion has failed, you leave me no choice but coercion. I do not want to break you, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, but I will do what I have to. Once removed of your haughty ideals, can you truly withstand the siren call of our power?_

Reaching a gloved hand from beneath its cloak, the person tried a lone door in the passage. It was locked. Casually, a word of power hissed through the air. With a slight creak, the door swung open.

Nose wrinkled at the mess, the shadowy intruder strode to one of the two beds. Its fingers deftly sketched signs of enchantment above the mattress and pillows. Sibilant whispers wreathed mighty spells about the blankets. Spells of dreaming and forgetting, of binding and chaining. They streamed steadily from the speaker's lips, always assured, never hesitant or remorseful.

Now the spell-caster hummed deep in the back of its throat, the final addition to an adamant magic, a summoning so strong it might shatter the victim. Merciless, the shadow pressed on with the last few notes. Once the spell was sealed, none could escape it. They would surrender or go mad.

The figure stepped back and laid a charm of intense weariness about the entire chamber. A few extra gestures called up a small breeze. Smelling of some fruity perfume, the light wind exhausted itself ridding the room of stench and airing it out.

Work done, the graceful form turned to leave. As it did so, torchlight in the passage glinted off a fallen curl of red hair.

* * *

Tor wished his friend a good night and spouted some lie about having to visit the bathroom. Once in the hallway, he shook his head to clear it of drowsiness. Sleep sounded amazing at the moment, but he could not give in. Not just yet. Before the young man could even contemplate sleep, Darren had to report to Faramir on Carson's actions. Without pausing to consider the morality of such a thing, Tor set off for Faramir's study. He whistled merrily to himself along the way. Little did the teenager realize the far-flung consequences of his deeds as he marched ever closer to betrayal.

* * *

Carson was having another strange dream. Rather than falling, this time she simply found herself in an unfamiliar room. Immediately, the girl knew by instinct this was not her own dream. It felt all wrong, and the furnishings were incredibly awkward. A great canopied bed stood against the far corner, bedecked with rich, expensive bedding. Flames flickered gently in a large fireplace. In front of the fireplace was set a luxurious chaise lounge with frilly pink upholstery. A little mini bar, full of powerful liquors and delectable dainties, occupied the opposite wall. The room possessed a powerful smell, roses and wine and lavender. Soft, romantic music played, but Carson could not see its source. Her blood froze. The room could have only one purpose; it was a place for an assignation.

Clad still in her charcoal dress, Candorien turned about wildly. Panic grew in her eyes.

_There has to be a way out of here. Valar, let there be a way out of here. Please._

But there was no way out. No windows, no doors, no ceiling tiles or ventilation shafts to remove and crawl through. The ceiling itself seemed immeasurably high, and so wrapped in shadow Carson could not discern where exactly it was. As for ventilation, the room had already grown stuffy. She could not bear it much longer.

Terrified and furious, the girl curled up in a ball. Candorien buried her face in her knees. Even in the middle of that great, high-ceilinged room, claustrophobia set in. What was going on? Who was controlling all of this? And what the heck was going to happen to her?

"Get up, wretch."

Carson did not even realize she had moved until she was on her feet, oriented to the source of the livid voice. Her eyes remained steady on the plush carpet, and her hands clasped themselves behind her back. She stood silently at "to the ready", waiting patiently for the voice to speak again.

"What do you think you're doing?" A shape unfolded itself from the darkest corner. It moved across the floor to where she stood. Voice strained with anger, the shape demanded, "Answer me!"

Now she looked up into a face twisted with rage. "This is not my doing, Master Turner."

Will gazed deep into her eyes. He saw her fear and frustration, and the adamant resolve hidden beneath both. For long minutes he held her eyes to see if her mask would slip and another thought reveal itself. Finally he released her with a sigh. "Very well. This isn't completely your fault. I'm glad. But whose is it?"

"I don't know." Once free, her glance returned to the floor. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough." He had seen her pop into being, look about wildly, take a few hesitant steps, and finally collapse. The man stepped back casually. "More to the point, _why_ are we here?"

The girl shrugged in ignorance.

"Don't lie, Carson."

"I'm not. I don't know why we're here."

"You suspect."

"That doesn't mean I know." Exasperated, she turned away and began to pace. "Anyway, you suspect it, too. You just don't want to be the one to say it." Suddenly starving, the teenager walked over to the mini bar. Hungry?"

"Is there anything worth eating?" Will maintained his distance.

"Not really… a bit of wine, some chocolate, a small salami with that ridiculously gourmet mustard. What the heck? Why would anyone choose gourmet mustard? It's rarely better than the regular stuff."

The pirate forced back a laugh. He did not want to encourage her. "I'll have a bottle of wine and that salami – gourmet mustard included, if you don't mind."

Piling a few things onto a tray, Carson returned and seated herself gracefully on the divan. As he relieved her of the bottle of wine, Will wondered if the girl knew the effect she might have had on a less-wary male. That dress, for instance. It draped about her like liquid smoke and brought out those dark sea-gray eyes, her very dangerous eyes. After a few minutes' drinking and dithering, he spoke up.

"Carson," he began, then stopped, unable to go on.

"Yes?" she replied, for a moment very undignified as she attempted to reach a bit of mustard on the tip of her nose with her tongue.

Choosing to ignore this, Will continued, "We both know, more or less, why we're here."

"Aye…." The girl gave up trying to lick the mustard off and scrubbed furiously at it instead. Will came to sit on the opposite side of the divan.

"Look, you little Mary-Sue."

"I am not a Sue!"

"Yes, you are." The man deftly caught the flying salami as it was pelted at his face. "Whether you like it or not, you are."

"Oh?" Time for one word eloquence again.

"Indeed. You seem very graceful tonight. I remember the ship. You were not so graceful then." Noting her look of fierce disapproval, the pirate corked the bottle of wine and set it off to the side. "Nor were you so beautiful. Against my will, I am – dare I say it? – I am attracted to you."

Carson leapt up, true fear etched in every line of her body. She trembled. "No. Valar, no." The tray crashed from the chaise lounge onto the carpeted floor. Mustard went everywhere. "Oh, crap."

As the girl bent to clear the mess, the mustard stains vanished, and the tray reassembled itself. Will swore.

"I hate this place. We have to get out of here."

Carson regarded him nervously, disturbed by this agitation.

"Scared, are you?" Bitter and self-mocking, the man met her eyes with such force she could not look away. "Afraid of me now, little Sue? D*** it, I am not going to touch you!" Will lost control; his voice soared with rage and broke on the last note.

The girl's face bleached beneath her dark tan; she looked more like a trammeled wild animal than a human.

"You see now the peril of our situation? I am drawn to break vows of immortal love; you find yourself the victim of your own unconscious power. What now?"

The girl's head whirled too fast for true thought. She could but speak and pray the right words came out. "I want out," she croaked.

"Finally." Relief brought a glorious smile to Will's face. He ran a hand through his dark hair and tapped his tiny gold earring. "And she sees it at last."

"We're in major trouble," the teenager moaned, sinking onto the floor and placing her hands in her lap.

"Yes, we are. Here." The pirate tossed her a chocolate wrapped in gilded foil. "This will help you think. So you see the danger? You like me – do not lie, Carson. You are disconcerted by my presence – and I am in great danger of losing myself to your powers. For all your infatuation, you don't want that to happen." He paused for her response.

"No."

"But it would seem that someone does, very much, or we would not be caught here. Someone went to great trouble to put us here, to supply the room so fittingly, to create such a place. I am not sure who they are or what they have planned for us, but we must escape. My marriage depends on it, and… and…"

"And my virtue." Her soft murmur was almost completely inaudible. Will caught it and flashed her a strange look. "What? Are you surprised that I care?" He blinked slowly down at her. Carson looked away. "I have standards, Will. Believe it or not," she inhaled deeply, steeling herself for brutal honesty. "Believe it or not, I have absolutely no desire – unlike some I know – to lose my virginity at the age of sixteen. Some things are too sacred to be cast off like so much rubbish, and that is one of them."

The room fell silent.

"Erm, ehem…moving on, we have to get out of here." Neither was willing to look at the other.

"Obviously. But how?"

"You have power. I know it's undesirable. Just use it and get us out of here. Please."

Still not looking at him, Carson stood. She closed her eyes, falling into deep concentration. The girl completed the movements and verses required for the Gating spell. Nothing happened. Candorien tried again. Again nothing happened. Once more she ran through the exercise. Still nothing happened. Now Carson was running through the ritual repeatedly, her desperation imbuing the spell with a crackling ferocity. And then it became too much. She fell to the floor, face milk-white, eyes staring blindly up at the ceiling.

* * *

**A/N: Opinions? **


	25. Aunt Martha

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one. **

* * *

When Carson came to, she was on the divan. Will stood nearby, facing the fire, his back to her. The girl surmised that he had lifted her onto the chaise lounge and turned away. To be honest, she couldn't blame him. If the temptation her Sue-powers exerted on him was so great, he had every right to avoid her. The man had set a decanter and a small glass of brandy on the floor by her head.

A change in her breathing or some other subconscious sound signaled to him of her awareness, and Will swung about. A look of half-tenderness, half-anxiety lit his handsome features. Carson's stomach thumped; she could not allow either one of them to fall. Sitting up quickly, the young woman masked her inner turmoil.

"I suppose we might as well accept that your powers cannot get us out of here." The pirate did not move closer, instead carefully maintaining a distance of three feet between them.

"Not that way." She shook her head to clear it of the fuzzies. Dread suspicion gripped her. "Has the room gotten smaller?"

Even before he answered, Candorien knew the truth. She could see the ceiling now barely a foot above Will's head. The mini bar was only a few paces from the divan. Surely her conception of the room's spacious grandeur could not be the product of a fevered imagination.

The man swore. "Aye."

"Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap."

"This is most assuredly not good," he agreed.

Frowning, the young woman leapt off the divan. Her bare feet sank through the plush carpet.

"Ouch!" Something had stabbed her. She balanced on one leg to look at her injured extremity. A single bright crimson drop formed slowly on her big toe.

"What w_as _that?" Candorien wondered, hobbling over to the divan and sitting down gingerly.

Eyes cast upward into the dark gloom of the ceiling, Will did not reply. Suddenly he started and swore – again. "Move!"

Even as he dove to the ground, the man snatched Carson's shoulders and pulled her down as well.

"What the" – And then she shrieked as a huge iron spike, narrowed to a deadly point, whistled through the air and slammed into the divan where the girl had been a moment before. Heart pounding in terror, Carson lay on the carpet for a short while, utterly incapacitated.

"Get up," Will ordered quietly. "The walls are moving again."

With a pop, the mini bar disappeared as the walls closed in on them. More iron spikes emerged from the ceiling and walls. Shiny silver points poked their heads through the fluffy carpet. The young woman got to her feet, her arms scratched and bleeding. She danced from foot to foot, wincing as the spikes got her.

"Can't do this much longer," she wheezed.

"You're hurting yourself," murmured Will, whose thick sea boots provided protection against he needle-like barbs.

Candorien spared him one glance of helpless agony and continued dancing.

"Wonderful trick, this," the man continued dourly. "Only one place of safety."

"Eh?"

"The bed… it hasn't been touched yet."

"Oh, no. Not in a million years!" she screamed at whoever was behind all this. Then the fireplace disappeared, and the walls reached the end of the divan. "Oh, fine. You win!" Candorien sprinted to the four-poster and flung herself across it. Her feet simply ached.

Will followed, dodging the spikes that shot out from the walls or dropped down from above. Then a tall one sprouted up from the floor and tore his trouser leg. The man hastened to jump on the huge mattress.

"This is awkward," Carson muttered. The two maintained their distance, one on each extreme side of the bed. For a while no one spoke. Air whistled around the spikes protruding from every surfaced. Iron scraped against iron with a painful screech. The horrid noise increased as the room grew smaller. Carson shoved her fingers in her ears, but o no avail.

A shaft zoomed out from the wall and caught her elbow. Instinctively, she rolled away from it. At the same time, another one came inches from piercing Will's nose. He, too, moved inward. Now only a foot of space remained between them. Both man and girl lay ramrod straight, arms at their sides, refusing to look at one another.

_Awkward, awkward, so very, very awkward,_ sang Carson's Voice, being as annoying as possible.

Thump! The edges of the bed where they had lain a moment before were suddenly punctured by a horde of spikes. Will swallowed. Stomach full of lead, Carson watched as the largest nail she'd ever seen hurtled toward her face. AT the last moment, she threw herself aside.

"Would you get off me?" Will hissed.

"Sorry, sorry. I'll just…"

An even larger, sharper spike drove into the mattress, closer than the last one. Carson attempted to roll away from Will but could not do so completely for fear of being impaled.

"Move over!" His voice was taut with anger and terror.

"I can't," she replied, equally annoyed. "There isn't room. And her comes another one – ah!!"

Trembling with frustration, Will lifted his arm and allowed the cowering girl to shelter against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her in the nick of time; a second later the spike sank deep into the bed centimeters from the back of his hand.

"Now, _this_," he chuckled dryly, "is awkward."

Carson, her head pillowed on his upper arm, flushed. "You can say that again. Sorry."

"It's all right. Our choices appear to be this or death."

"Bet I know which you prefer," she muttered under her breath.

"If I thought a spike would actually end everything and free me from this life…" Will noticed the slightly nauseated look on the girl's face. "Kidding. I'm not that desperate."

Wrinkling her nostrils, Carson turned her head away from him. "You smell like my Aunt Martha."

The man jerked his arm out from beneath her. "I beg your pardon," he said, greatly affronted.

"You smell like my Aunt Martha," Carson repeated.

Will nearly squashed her as he avoided a spike. "And how is that?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Oh, you just smell like her is all."

"What does your Aunt Martha smell like?"

"Corpses," the girl answered briskly. "She's a medical examiner."

"A what?"

They both rolled the opposite way to dodge the next set of spikes.

"A medical examiner cuts open bodies to determine cause of death – and other things. Good Lord, whoever's controlling these spikes is vicious."

"I smell like a woman who spends her time slicing open the dead?"

Carson buried her nose in Will's shirt and inhaled deeply. "Yep."

"I do not!"

The girl smelled him again. "You do, too."

"Carson, I do _not_ smell like corpses."

"Of course you do," she said comfortably. "It's all here – blood, bile, and the faintest hint of decomp."

"Decomp?" He had a sinking feeling he would not like the answer but felt compelled to ask regardless.

"Decomp is short for a decomposing body or a corpse that is experiencing decomposition."

"That is disgusting," Will growled as the girl huddled next to him to escape yet another deadly spike. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Because it felt like a good idea at the time?"

He frowned. "Your reasoning is faulty."

"Well, yeah, I knew that already. But it's true…isn't it?"

His frown deepening, Will bent his head and sniffed his own shirt. "Ugh. I do smell like a corpse. I can't believe you were right."

"It's ok. We all have problems." Carson grinned wolfishly. "You smell like a bloody, biley, rotting dead person, and I'm a Sue – supposedly. No one's perfect."

"I am," cackled a high voice.

Startled, the two sat up as much as they could and looked about. MEKESSG stood at the end of the bed, frowning wistfully, but it was not she who had spoken. Her emerald eyes met Carson's grey ones with a hint of sympathy.

"Get her away from my man, sissie," ordered the high voice petulantly.

"No, Elemenestra, dearest," MEKESSG spoke sweetly but did not quite manage to hide her annoyance. "Candorien won her place there."

"Get her away from him!" demanded the voice, and from behind the Sue's antebellum skirts stamped a smaller, lovelier (if that were possible), furious mini-MEKESSG.

_This is most definitely the stuff of nightmares, _Carson thought, checking her hips for a weapon of some sort. _Darn it, I'm wearing a dress._

Without moving his lips, Will asked, "What are you looking for?" Carson mimed stabbing something. "Ah. Will it work?" She shrugged. "Here." The man laid his clenched hand on her knee and opened it discreetly. A small knife fell into her lap.

"Mary Elizabeth, do introduce us to your friend. " Anything to distract those pairs of bright green eyes from the blade now hidden in the folds of her skirt.

"As you wish. Carson, Captain Turner, allow me to present to you Elemenestra Victory Anariel Lucy Phillipa Isabel Greenhow," the Sue paused for dramatic effect, "my little sister."

"You have a sister?" Candorien burst out.

"Obviously," snickered Elemenestra…EVALPIG, for short. "And I am both higher-ranked and more powerful."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed." MEKESSG looked genuinely unhappy for a moment. "Our Queen is the one with the highest conquest to age ratio. Dear Elemenestra bumped me out this morning."

"I just handled the _entire_ Cullen coven – the males, that is." EVALPIG licked her lips, eyes glinting.

Carson mentally threw up.

"And the night before that I cozied up to the Pevensie boys, and that afternoon I messed around with Ron Weaselly."

The mental puking intensified. Will looked a little green, though he could not have known to whom EVALPIG referred. Even Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow pursed her perfect lips in distaste.

"How old are you?" the pirate gasped.

The girl glowed at the sound of his voice. "Thirteen," she cooed, fluttering her long, dark lashes.

Now the man really turned green. "Carson," he pleaded, not caring if the others heard. "Carson, get us out of here. Now." He gripped her arm so tightly that it hurt.

"She cannot steal you away," growled EVALPIG. "You are mine. Sissie, handle them."

MEKESSG strode forward to the edge of the bed closest to Carson. She took hold of the girl's free arm and gazed into her eyes.

_My apologies,_ said a silky voice into both Carson and Will's minds. _I did not mean for her to notice this little experiment. _

The two attempted to struggle but could not move. She had frozen them.

"What would you have me do, my Queen?" asked MEKESSG. The prisoners felt her aggravation resonate deep within their skulls.

"Send the wench away. I shall take her place."

"Yes, my Queen."

"Wait – no – better yet, destroy her, and I shall control the body."

Mary Elizabeth blanched. 'It is evil, my sister. Candorien is one of us."

"Is she indeed? I thought she repudiated our society and refused the Call." Then in a voice ringing with power, "Do as I say."

_I am sorry, Candy dearest, _purred the silky voice, _but I have no choice._

Bands of adamant clamped down on her mind. Candorien found herself being forcibly removed from her own body. She fought tooth and nail, thrashing against the shackles on her soul. An alien presence entered in, and she turned to battle it. The horrid smugness of Elemenestra poisoned her, so Carson slunk away from it, even as her refuges disappeared. She found herself trapped, trammeled in a tiny corner. Now the intruder closed in, helping herself to memories and secret emotions.

_That's mine!_ bellowed Carson, consumed by fury. _Get out!_ She threw everything into this last duel, this fight she _must_ win.

But it was not to be. The other presence chased her, playing hard and dirty until Carson could fight no longer. In final desperation she searched for some way to end her own life.

_Here._ A bright portal, a means of escape, suddenly appeared before her. Without pausing for thought, the girl dove into the pool of devastatingly white light. As she fell through the brightness, the Sue's claws retracted from her soul. Finally at peace, Carson relaxed and sank into blackness.

* * *

MEKESSG and Will stared as the body that had belonged to Carson began to twitch and jerk until it was convulsing horribly.

"May I ask you a question, Captain Turner?" drawled the beautiful girl. "A personal question?"

Still restrained by her power, Will grimaced. "If you must."

"Whether she takes over Candy's body or not, you will never love my sister, will you?"

"I love only Elizabeth," the man said stiffly.

"Oh, come now. We both know better." Snapping her fingers, MEKESSG made all the spikes disappear. Without so much as a glance at her little sister's body, which crumbled to burning ashes as it was abandoned by the will controlling it, she seated herself on the foot of the bed. "You love Carson as well."

Brown eyes snapping in anger, he spoke through clenched teeth. "I. Do. Not. Love. Her."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire. Tell the truth," the Sue ordered in a commanding tone. "How do you _really_ feel about Carson?"

Will glared up at her, unrelenting.

"Please don't make me force you. I have done enough coercion today."

Furious still, he allowed himself one question. "What have you done with Carson?"

Her green eyes softened, and the smile that lit her face was genuine, not pasted on or conniving. She was almost human for a moment. Gently, Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow replied, "Her body is ruled by Elemenestra Victory Anariel Lucy Phillipa Isabel."

The man shook this off. "You did not answer my question. A person is not made solely of flesh and bone. I deal constantly with the spirits of the dead. I ask you once again. What did you do with Carson?"

"She is safe – I think. I sent her to a place where her wits will protect her. When she becomes angry enough and strong enough, my little friend will retake her body and cast Elemenestra out. Without a body," she indicated the pile of glistening ash, "my sister cannot exist."

The pirate looked ill. "You would kill your own sister?"

MEKESSG radiated icy disapproval. "Elemenestra is a heavy-handed disgrace. I will not go into her lack of virtue – I believe you've seen that already. She is a silly, tactless, brainless creature."

Personally, Will agreed. And yet … "If you kill her, she'll end up on my ship."

"Don't worry. I'll make sure some other death god has charge of her. Maybe the Graveyard Hag… but now the transformation is almost complete. Soon my sister will awake. I must send you home. Once there, tighten your Sue-wards. Oh, and pray for Candorien. She is going to need all the help she can get." With a final nod, the Sue snapped her fingers and sent him flying through darkness homeward.

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long to update again. Now AP tests are finally over, and it's summer, wonderful summer, so I ought to have time to write more. As always, reviews are appreciated, and flames will be used to better my writing.**

**AiH**


	26. Psychos United

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Author's Note: I am so sorry this took me so long. **

* * *

Carson found herself in a cold, gloomy passage. _I'm in a catacomb, _she thought, expecting to see skulls and graveclothes at any moment. The stone walls of the passage seemed to glow with a greenish light. Gingerly, the teenager picked her way around puddles of murky water and scurrying rats. _I don't even want to think about all the germs in this place. Ew. Wait… what am I wearing?_

Having just noticed that she was not wearing the gray dress, Candorien paused to glance at her reflection in one of the larger, clearer puddles. For some reason, she was now clad in regular clothes - her favorite jeans, an old fencing t-shirt, and black converse. She reached up and found her little horse charm necklace resting against her collarbone. Relieved by its presence, the girl proceeded along the passage carefully.

Now she heard raised voices: one high and grating; the other low, sensual, and dangerous. The voices seemed to be arguing. Still moving quietly, Carson sped up. Other passages opened to her left and right, but the girl continued on, following the voices. She was one turn away from them when there came a shriek, then a gurgling sound that descended into silence, and finally a splash. Candorien hurtled around a corner and backpedaled to a stop.

Standing before her, drenched in sweat and panting, was a tall man with a bloody rope in one hand. Instinctively, Carson brought her hand up to her nose. Upon hearing her approach, the man turned slowly.

"Not another one," he murmured in that seductive voice.

"Not another what?" the girl asked, retreating.

He swore – even more impressively than Will had – and strode towards her. Apprehensive and afraid, Carson backed away; she had caught sight of the ivory mask that covered half his face.

_I'm really not interested in dying today – oh, crap! _Her foot slipped in a patch of slime, and down she went. Before she could stand up, the man had reached her. He dropped the hangman's noose over her head and attempted to tighten it. Luckily, the girl's hand was still at her nose. She pushed the noose out, loosening it until at last she could slip free. Carson scrambled away in wild desperation.

"You will not escape!" The man caught her arm and twisted it behind her back. He yanked her to a standing position by her hair. "Any last words?" Although she struggled madly, he maintained his iron grip.

"You, sir, are by no means a gentleman to treat a lady thus."

"Sues are not ladies."

Carson panicked. Not the bloody Sue thing. Not again. Did she have the word "Sue" written on her forehead or something? She threw her heel up and kicked him in the gonads. Distracted for a moment, the man relaxed his hold, allowing Carson to pull free and take off running. It felt as though she had left half her hair in his hand. Carson sprinted through the passages, but no matter how many turns she took, he was always there just behind her. Suddenly she came to a dead end. There was no way out. She was trapped.

The man closed in on her slowly, almost lazily, as if he enjoyed her terror.

"I don't know what's wrong with you," he observed casually, stopping less than a foot from her. Carson stood paralyzed, transfixed by that white mask and the glittering dark eyes behind it. "Generally you lot come on to me before I kill you." The man stepped forward. Grabbing her shoulder, he spun her around and slammed her against the stone wall.

Moaning, the girl crumpled to the floor. He stood over her and kicked her in the ribs. She whimpered softly.

"Had enough?" the man demanded with another savage kick.

"Erik," she croaked, feeling the bruises form on her sides. "Erik, please stop. Please," she begged and wanted to cry for the humiliation of it.

Driven by spite, his booted toe caught the back of her head. Carson jerked at the spasm of pain and passed out.

Erik paused, gazing down at the unconscious girl. He waited a minute before beginning to roll her from side to side with his foot until she had been shaken awake. Groaning, Carson opened her eyes and promptly vomited on his boots.

"Eeeeaaaaurgh! That is disgusting, you filthy creature." The man jumped back and stared in disbelief at the sick on his feet.

"Ever hear of shaken baby syndrome, you greasy git? You are witnessing the aftereffects of shaken teenager syndrome."

He glared at her, torn between two instincts. On the one hand, killing Sues was his favorite pastime. On the other, he really wanted to clean his boots. Immediately. "Get up."

Carson rolled away from the puddle of throw up and slowly got to her feet. Incredibly dizzy, she took a step and ended up grabbing Erik around the neck to keep from falling. Choking, he pushed her away. She walked into the wall. Bouncing off, she promptly fell down.

"Ugh." Setting a new precedent, Erik bent over and picked her up. Carson flinched at his touch, but he ignored this, carrying her easily in his arms. The man moved quickly through the dark hallways of his subterranean kingdom.

"Are you going to kill me?" Carson wondered conversationally.

"I'm considering it. Would you like to be strangled, stabbed, or drowned in the lake?"

"The lake's probably cleaner than you are, you greasy-haired, homicidal psychopath."

The man continued cheerfully, "I rarely allow Sues to choose their manner of death. However, your shirt proclaims you to be a fencer, and being a reasonable, rational individual, I am willing to make a deal."

"I'm listening."

"I need a fighting partner at the moment. So… if you will join me in a few practice bouts dispersed through the next three days, I will murder in the manner of your choosing." He sounded as though he were offering her a great treat.

"Great. That's just fanbloodytastic. I accept!"

They came now to Erik's lair. After a moment of contemplation, the man climbed the steps leading up to his bed. He dropped the girl onto it. On impulse, she reached up to touch his mask. It was just too tempting. Erik stepped back, shaking his head, dark eyes forbidding.

"You aren't what I expected the Phantom of the Opera to be," she murmured.

"Oh?"

'You haven't sung, and you're the poster child for Psychos United."

He snorted and disappeared, returning with a glass of water. "Drink."

Eying the glass suspiciously, Carson sniffed its contents. She swirled the beverage around but saw no dangerous powder sticking to the rim or sides. Finding no reason not to drink it, the girl downed the water.

Even as she drained the last drop, the drug acted. Carson fell back against the velvet pillows, eyes closed in dreamless sleep. Nodding in satisfaction, Erik caught the glass as it fell and drew the dark curtains around the bed. Then the Phantom adjusted his mask and stalked off to go clean his vomit-encrusted boots.

* * *

"Carson! Carson!" Darren strode into their quarters, glistening with sweat from weapons practice. "Wake up, lazy bones! Legolas and Faramir want us to come a-riding." The young man bounced onto his friend's bed, eyes bright and eager. "They want to show us Osgiliath. We're going boating on the Anduin after. Wake up, ladylove! Come on; we are wanted elsewhere."

Tor shook the sleeping form, all his previous annoyance forgotten.

"Get up, sea hag darling! We're running late!" When his efforts met with no success, he dove across the bed, landing heavily on the sleeper's side. "Get up!"

"I'm up," growled the figure, pushing him off.

Darren retreated, strangely uncomfortable. It was Carson's voice and Carson's sea-gray eyes glaring at him, but something was off, though he could not quite put his finger on it.

Carson rose from the bed and dressed with shocking impropriety. Tor turned away to avoid awkward moments, and his sense of disquiet grew. Finding his friend's iPod, he listened to a few pop rock songs and some classic jazz, moving his fingers over imaginary saxophone keys.

At last the girl finished and flounced toward him, all the while waggling her hips in the most unseemly manner. Darren raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, silly," giggled Carson, completely un-Carson-like. She slapped his rear lightly. "Don't want to keep the others waiting."

Tor followed her out of the citadel, very concerned now. Carson did not touch others' tails. Ever. She had at least that much dignity. Darren's foreboding proved true in the worst possible manner. When they came to the White Tree, where Legolas, Faramir, and the horses awaited, Carson ran up to Legolas and began to kiss him passionately. He knew then that something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.

* * *

A stream of icy water trickled down Carson's face and neck. For a moment she tossed and turned, shivering. Then with a great squawk, the girl rolled over too much, and she fell onto the hard wood floor.

"Morning," laughed Erik, corking his decanter.

Wary of this change in attitude, Carson pushed herself up from the floor. "Morning," she snarled, wincing as she accidentally touched the bruise on her knee.

"Defend yourself."

Carson caught the whirling blade with ease.

"And now," he touched light fingers to his mask, "we fight."

"What about breakfast?"

Momentarily nonplussed, the man shook his head. "No."

'No breakfast? Argh!"

Barbaric in her hunger, Candorien went into full-Valkyrie mode. Screaming in quite an unladylike manner, the girl chased him through the lair and along a passage. Startled, at first Erik allowed himself to be driven. It was not in his nature to be a sheep, however.

"_What_ is your problem?" he demanded, finally turning to face her.

"I'm hungry," she growled, and the real swordplay began.

Thus commenced the strangest fight of Carson's short life. From the darkest dungeons to the sunlit rooftops, they battled. Erik led her by ways unknown and unseen through the tumultuous opera house. When they emerged at last into another world of clean stone and cerulean skies, the fighters breathed in and continued their labors with renewed vigor. Sweat poured off both bodies as Erik danced close for a moment in order to scratch the girl's cheek with the tip of his blade.

"Rawr!" Carson switched her sword to her left hand.

"What? You're left-handed?"

"Of course bloody not." She continued fencing with her left hand, grateful for a sprained wrist the year before.

"Then what are you doing?"

"This ." Eyes glinting, the teenager locked blades. When the frustrated man, unable to free his weapon, got close enough, she broke the rules of chivalry and punched him in the solar plexus. He doubled up, gasping for air. A triumphant smile on her face, Carson collected the two swords. Patiently, she settled herself on a stone plinth and waited for Erik to recover.

"You cheated," he spat upon getting his wind back.

Lazily admiring the death's head hand guard on his rapier, Candorien glanced at him, half-smiling. "Pirate."

The Phantom rose and stalked over to her. "Sue," he corrected in dire tones.

"Unorthodox, certainly, my good man, but hardly a Sue."

"We shall see."

"Indeed?" Carson compared the two blades, a thoughtful wrinkle creasing her brow. "So…Erik…. Phantom…psychopath…which shall I call you?" she asked cheerily, a bright, vapid smile lighting her face.

"Sue," Erik muttered. "Call me… well, enough people call me Phantom and psychopath, so I suppose Erik will do. What name do they call you, Sue?"

"Certainly not Sue," she frowned at him. "It's Carson, actually. Carson Eileen McArthur."

"How very masculine for a Sue."

Her scowl deepening, Carson handed Erik his sword. "Breakfast?"

"Optimist. But, yes, I think I will feed you. Or I could always throw you off the roof."

"Hardy-har-har. I thought we agreed on three days?" The girl took a step back out of arms' reach.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," he exclaimed in exasperation. "Come on, Eileen."

"My name is Carson."

"Your middle name is Eileen."

Grumbling, Carson followed the Phantom back into the belly of the opera house. They moved silently from shadow to shadow, taking half-forgotten staircases and abandoned corridors. Erik hummed softly when they reached the cellars. The deeper they descended, the louder his humming became.

Finally back at Erik's lair, the man took a small pile of folded clothing from beside his organ. "Here." He held them out to her. "Take these and bathe. You stink."

She took the clothes. "And where exactly am I supposed to bathe?"

He made a sweeping gesture. "There is water all around us."

"Water _you_ shoved a dead body into yesterday. I don't bathe in corpse-infested waters. How on earth can that be sanitary?"

"Oh, the water is clean now. Sues dissolve in about an hour."

"Dissolve?"

"Yes, dissolve. Then they go to whatever place Sues go to and wait for reincarnation."

"Sues are reincarnated?"

"Obviously. Now go wash. You reek, smelly Eileen."

"To be in your presence offends _my_ nose, putrid Erik."

"Go," the man ordered in a deep, scary voice.

Carson spun on her heel and marched off. With every step, she concentrated on "Hi, Mom!" and squeezing out a tube of toothpaste.

_Heel, ball, toe, heel, ball, toe, _the girl thought. _Left flank harch! _ She clutched the bundle of clothing to her chest and marched along the corridor, memorizing her turns so she could find her way back.

Once she had gone a sufficient distance form the lair, Carson set the bundle of clothing down. She was in a small chamber. A steel walkway led across a canal full of dark green water. Not caring about the lack of visibility, Carson peeled out of her t-shirt and jeans and dove into the green wetness. Her hands cleaved the water, and she slid in with only a small splash.

Eyes open, the young woman moved easily through the green depths. She swam beneath the walkway, reveling in the moment of grace granted unto her. When her lungs began to burn, Carson kicked to the surface. Gulping in air, she stroked to the walkway and pulled herself up out of the canal. For long moments the girl lay there, pondering.

Soon, the water's call grew too strong, and she dove back into its gentle embrace. Carson quickly lost track of time as she swam and thought and swam again. At last the girl wrenched herself away. Standing, she donned the clothing Erik had given her. Carson wriggled into the soft suede trousers and starched linen top.

_Good thing I'm dry,_ she thought, lacing the neck of the blouse closed. _ And that I've lost weight. I wonder who he stole this from. And if he really plans on killing me. Shall it be death by drowning or disembowelment?_ Her stomach growled loudly. _Or starvation? _

After folding her own clothing, Carson marched back to the lair proper. Her stomach voiced noisy complaints all along the hallway. Attempting to ignore it, the girl marched double-time.

Erik, lounging in an abused leather armchair, a book propped open on his knee, looked up at the sound of her footsteps.

"You are still here," he observed, sounding disappointed.

"Where else would I be?"

"I gave you an opportunity to leave, and you did not take it." The man closed his book, tone disapproving.

"How could I leave?" She felt extremely confused now.

"You. Are. A. Sue."

"I am not."

Her protest was ignored. "If you magically showed up here, then you can magically leave."

"But I didn't choose to come here."

"No?"

Flummoxed, she stood before him, feeling very much like an awkward schoolgirl. "I didn't have a choice."

"Right."

With no better answer to give, Carson explained briefly her troublesome relationships with MEKESSG, Will, and EVALPIG. At first openly bored, by the end of her short tale, Erik was actually paying attention. His dark eyes followed her hands as she gestured expansively. When she came to an abrupt halt, the man rose.

"You are Candorien."

"Yeah…. why?"

"Faramir warned me of you."

"You know Faramir? Wait –why would he warn you about me?"

"We've met. And because you are in my book."

"Shiny-haired, anger-management-challenged musician say what?"

He tossed her his book. "Page twenty three."

_The Sue Hunter's Guide_ read the title. Perplexed, Carson flipped through it until she came to page twenty-three. There she found a decent picture of herself, a concise biography, and a note for hunters. This last was most intriguing.

_Note: Carson Eileen McArthur, alias Candorien Farlithe, is a very small fish, comparatively speaking. In fact, some of the authors of this book are not assured she is a Sue. However, hunters would do well to look out for her for the following reasons: One, Carson's presence in any story/fandom brings unlikely, unreasonable events. She twists things in the strangest ways, i.e. Balrogs. Two, she always appears with or near Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow, who is a _very_ big fish. Three, Carson is immature. If, for whatever reason, you are unlucky enough to wind up with Carson, send her home immediately. She needs to grow up on. Earth._

The girl's brow furrowed as she read. It was not a pleasant page, but then again, the truth is rarely pleasant.

"So Faramir knew." She closed the book with unnecessary violence.

"You are a Sue."

"Not by choice."

"Oh, yes, by choice. Otherwise you would go home and not gad about sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"Argh. I wish I could leave."

"Why can't you?"

"I forgot the stupid gating spell."

"Erik laughed. "Magic is not contained solely in spells. If you want it badly enough, you will find a way to get home. And grow up," he added as an afterthought.

Carson glowered at him.

"Stop that. It is most unbecoming. You look like Buquet with a hangover. Now, if you're still hungry, I think there may be a little breakfast left…"

* * *

**Author's Note: Once again, I apologize for being so tardy with this update. I hope things are beginning to make sense again. My muse has arrived again, and hopefully I can pound out a few chapters before it takes off for Tortuga or marching season starts, whichever comes first. **


	27. Pandora's Box

**Disclaimer: I own very few things from this chapter. And at least one of them, I am willing to sell at auction to the highest bidder, but who wants to buy a Sue?**

* * *

The next few days took on a rather strange pattern. Erik woke Carson by pouring some cold liquid on her, and they fenced until he apologized or knocked her out. Somehow, the man always managed to have a fresh set of clean clothing ready for her at the end of these matches. Then, as a general rule, she confined herself to a heavy chair near the organ so that he could "keep an eye on her". Carson did a lot of sleeping then; she kept having bizarre, disturbing dreams about Minas Tirith, Darren, and Legolas.

When not having creepy dreams, Carson listened to the Phantom play. Sometimes she closed her eyes and let her mind wander, but the majority of the time, she focused on his dark features and the many emotions playing across them. Her fingers itched to remove his mask. Every time she mentioned it, however, he told her to put the idea out of her head. This caused her to obsess over it even more.

At least thrice a day, a scantily clad, heavily corseted Sue would come waltzing in. Annoyed at having his music interrupted, Erik would rise, perfunctorily strangle the creature, and toss her corpse into the water.

"Be silent, or you're next," he would threaten Carson, glaring daggers down at her as he returned to his composing.

The hours of listening passed quickly. At length, the man ordered his audience of one to make herself useful. Usefulness consisted of scrubbing the floors, polishing candlesticks, and staying out from under Erik's feet. It was rewarded by dinner and another swordfight. If Carson had failed to be useful or particularly annoyed him, this evening fight would be even more brutal than the morning one. Bruises were freely given, Erik slammed her into the various walls, and someone ended up bleeding. Then the Phantom gave her a drugged drink and slunk away to his skullduggery.

Each night Carson had a dream; each dream was weirder than the last. On the third night, the strangest dream of all occurred. It was a night like the others before it. Her last waking thoughts dealt with removing the Phantom's mask and the manner of her death. The dream itself began like any other.

* * *

Carson strode through a well-lit hallway in Minas Tirith. Her clothing, though a great deal more risqué than her preferred norm, was not half so bad as that of her afternoon dream. Confident and cocky, she smiled brightly at all the males she passed. Swishing her hips, the girl sauntered down to the great hall. It was time for breakfast.

Briefly, the teenager struggled to cease the sauntering, swishing, and sashaying but could not do it. Flummoxed, she realized that she was no more than a passenger in her own body. Someone else was calling the shots here. Just then a familiar figure in unfamiliar garments appeared at the end of the hall.

Darren! Carson's heart leapt as a wave of nostalgia swept over her. But why was he clad all in green? In an instant, her delight turned to deep foreboding.

Tor approached her, a look of severe distaste on his usually pleasant features. Everything he wore – from his trousers to his cloak to his supple boots – was vivid, verdant verdigris. The young man held a mask in one clenched hand; the other rested on the pommel of a new rapier.

"Hello, handsome," the girl found herself purring. Flirty but mocking, her tone expressed far more than a simple greeting.

Darren spoke stiffly, eyes cold and harsh. "Faramir thought I should inform you…"

"What?" Her playful voice reminded Carson of a hormonal, pregnant she-bear woken from hibernation a month early.

"I have joined his guard. We leave for Emyn Arnen within the hour."

"But why should you wish to leave my side?" Carson could feel anger flooding her body, a possessive, jealous anger not at all her own.

"You are a doxie. A trollop. A tart, if you will. And I am not willing to stand by and watch an old friend go to the… dogs, as it were. "

"Oh, yeah?" Whatever entity was controlling Carson felt annoyed and lashed out cruelly. For the next five minutes, it harangued Darren, making fun of his appearance, personality, and romantic preferences. Carson could not believe the insults flying from her mouth. The snide remarks issuing forth in a shrill voice completely sickened her.

Darren stared at her wordlessly, his face turning slowly to stone. When at last she paused for breath, the young man slapped her across the face, spun on his heel, and left.

* * *

Suddenly awake, Carson sat bolt upright in bed, the remnants of a scream on her lips. Her cheek stung from Tor's blow. Exhaustion, foreboding, and hurt filled the girl's body. That dream had been far too real.

_Is EVALPIG running around Middle-earth in my body? _ Carson wondered with fresh insight. _That would be… very bad, to say the least. Ew. _ She shuddered. _ Not a good mental picture. If she's totally alienated Darren, what else has she done? Oh, rolf. _The sixteen-year-old gagged. _Ew, ew, ew! I have got to get back in control. Faramir probably thinks _I'm _doing all that flirty-mcflirter -pants crap._ _Egads. Maybe I _am_ a Sue. I mean, what other kind of person would let something like this happen? Stupid pretty people with mind-control powers. Ugh. I need to go home. I've just screwed up everything here._

Unusually motivated, the girl peeked about her to look for Erik. Seeing no one, she rose and crept towards the closest lair exit.

_If that Sue's in my real body, and I'm in this pseudo body, I've got to get back to the real one and kick _Her_ out. I mean, mini-Her. Well, mini-Her and Main-Her. Maybe Ben-Hur, too._

Carson tiptoed past the organ and the unlit candelabras, all the while expecting Erik to leap out and beat her. Not that a fight would be unwelcome. Since pounding Sues was currently not an option, taking her frustration out on an abusive, homicidal man sounded amazing.

A ghostly white gleam in the darkness caught her attention. The girl froze. For a moment she considered the white apprehensively. Curiosity won out. Padding over to Erik's desk, Carson snatched up the single sheet of paper and perused it.

_Eileen – _

_When you wake up and read this, I will be gone. Do not look for me. If I return with company, I expect you to make yourself scarce. If I return unaccompanied, prepare to die._

_Respectfully yours,_

_The Opera Ghost The Phantom of the Opera Psycho_ _ Erik_

Carson looked at all the scribbled-out signatures and smiled. Violent, mysterious, and frustrating as he continually was, she liked the Opera Ghost/Phantom/Psycho/Erik. Except for when he was beating her to a pulp. His disappearing bothered her. Where had her domestic abuse partner gone – and what on earth could he be up to?

Replacing the note on the desk, Carson eyed it with consternation. She started debating the nature of this entire experience with her inner Voice of Reason. As usual, their argument gave her a headache, and she collapsed into Erik's huge armchair, massaging her scalp.

The sound of loud splashing and low, labored cursing reached her. Carson scrambled to get up. It had to be the Phantom.

The man poled clumsily in his mini-gondola up to the edge of the lair. He was alone.

Forgetting the death threat, Carson raced down to meet him. "Hey, are you okay?"

Hate-filled eyes pierced her to the marrow. Breathing heavily, Erik clambered out of the boat. Sweaty and disheveled, he attempted to step past her.

"Hold it." Mouth dry, Carson stared at his torn, bloody left sleeve. "Holy catfish. What happened?"

"A war has been declared."

"You're hurt."

"Obviously." The man wearily walked to his armchair and sat. "Go get my medicine chest," he sighed after a long moment. "I need your help."

Carson turned and fled. After a minute's searching, she came back carrying a small ironbound chest. She laid it at Erik's feet.

"Fetch that candle."

The girl brought a slender taper, one of the few already burning.

"Good." Erik slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Gritting his teeth, he pulled first the right sleeve off and then the left. The cut on his upper arm, while not life-threatening, was both long and deep. Threads from his white shirt had mixed in the wound, pale pink worms in a swath of crimson. The edges of his skin gaped open so that even Carson could tell stitches were necessary. It was a mark of the gravity of the situation that she did not dare so much as peek at Erik's shirtless torso. "Open the chest," the man directed.

Kneeling, Carson flipped the latches and forced the heavy wooden lid up. Inside lay neat, folded piles of clean linen bandages, needles, thread, scissors, and various bottles and jars of ointment, fluids, and other medical aids. Given the medical knowledge currently available, she thought the chest well and wisely stocked. The girl glanced up at Erik, awaiting his next order.

"Alcohol."

"I really don't think you should be drinking…" Her voice trailed off at the look on his face, and she rummaged in the chest. "Got it." Carson pulled out a small rectangular glass bottle full of clear liquid. Tilting it from side to side, she watched the alcohol slosh back and forth.

"Take a bandage and clean my arm."

"Uhhh…" Carson picked out a square of white fabric and doused it with alcohol. "Hold still. This might sting."

Erik clenched the arms of his chair. The girl took a deep breath and began to wipe the wound with her alcohol-soaked rag. At first squeamish, she quickly got over it. As the clean process continued, Erik's knuckles gradually turned ivory from his iron grip. Finally it was finished.

"Now find the green ointment and…"

Locating it easily, Carson unscrewed the lid on a jar full of what looked like pale green honey. She dipped her fingers into the green honey and spread it onto the wound. It took a few ventures into the jar for the bloody cut to become completely slathered in ointment. The girl risked a glance upward into the Phantom's face.

His eyes met hers, full of sick humor. "Sew it up."

Horrorstruck, Carson mouthed silently for a long moment. Accepting fate, she turned back to the chest. "Which needle?"

A hint of a smile twitched about the corners of Erik's mouth. "The strong steel one –there. And use the white thread.'

After threading the needle, the girl stared down at the deep cut. Words simply could not express how much she _did not _want to do this. Under Erik's direction, she pushed the needle through the first flap of skin. It resisted penetration; each stitch was a struggle. Carson battled both her own nausea and the wound itself.

Puncture. Puncture. Pull the thread tight. Puncture. Puncture. Pull the thread tight.

Twelve tiny stitches later, she cut the thread from the needle and tied a Gordian knot. "Now what?"

More alcohol, more ointment, and a thick bandage were required. Carson then wrapped the bandage and arm with a long strip of gauze. As she tucked the end in, Erik exhaled, long and slow.

"Thank you." He did not look grateful.

"Pardon my curiosity, but what happened?"

Not meeting her eyes, Erik launched into a bitter tale. In disguise he had driven Christine to her father's cemetery and tried to win her back. The fop followed. Recognizing the Phantom's voice, Raoul warned Christine and broke the spell. A swordfight ensued.

"He beat me," growled Erik, dark eyes full of fury. "The foolish, insolent child beat me! She left with him, and I – I came back here. Alone," he added unnecessarily.

Nodding sympathetically, Carson said nothing. Behind Erik's anger and indignation lurked a deep well of hurt. He turned from her and gazed moodily at the manikin of Christine. His eyes gleamed as the internal pity fest continued. The girl watched, fingers itching. She stood still as stone, waiting for him to forget her entirely. When five minutes had passed since last he looked at her, Carson made her move.

Like a hawk stooping on its prey, her fingers reached out toward their target. In what was almost a caress, they touched the far edge of the white mask. Then they yanked it off. Triumphant, Carson danced in circles, brandishing the mask.

The man roared and leapt up from his chair. Cursing all females to Hell and back, he strode towards her. Carson ceased her capering in order to gaze unrestrainedly at his face.

"Give me that mask!"

She could not tear her eyes away from his scarred visage. Erik came closer, and she knew that once he regained the mask, she would never see his face again. So Carson obeyed a random impulse; she shoved the mask into the bosom of her blouse.

The Phantom skidded to a halt mere inches from her. Nostrils flaring, eyes blazing, he growled deep in his throat. "Give. It. Back."

"No." Carson drank in every scar, every blemish, every imperfection. It was not pretty, certainly, but not worth all the derision either.

"D*** you, you prying Pandora!"

She took the reference and ran with it. "You know," she began with a wry smile, "when Pandora opened that box and released all those horrid things into the world, she also released hope. I may have acted Pandora's part in removing your mask, but there is a figurative hope, as it were." Seeing his skepticism, Carson continued, "Your face is badly scarred, yes, but it isn't _that_ bad. The good half more than makes up for the bad half."

"Interesting tactic for a Sue. Usually they faint and pray I'll take of advantage of them in my wrath."

"Dude, sorry, but that's just creepy."

He glared. "Usually I kill them."

"Even creepier. Wasn't sure that was possible. Now I know." The girl beamed her Aragorn-I-didn't-mean-it-don't-punish-me smile.

"As interesting as this conversation is, I want my mask back – creeper."

"In a minute. Wait – how am I a creeper?"

"You put my mask in your bodice."

"Oh, yeah, that. You want it back?"

"After it's been properly sanitized. Are you finished looking?"

"Almost." Carson stood on tiptoe and kissed the scarred cheek. Erik froze. Blushing, the girl turned around to retrieve the mask from her shirt. She held it out to him. "Here you are."

He stared blankly at her for a moment then woodenly took the mask and fitted it to his face. Carson glanced aside while he did so. It seemed indecent to watch such a personal moment.

"I'm leaving," she burst out after a brief silent interlude.

"Going to try your hand at some other unsuspecting male?" he asked in a snide tone.

"As tempting as that sounds, I think not. Valar, I want to be in my own body and get it back to my own bed."

Erik gave her an odd look, then. Gazing into the air, Carson focused on some vision only she could see. The girl smiled at him, her gray eyes strangely distant.

"I'm sorry." She said it the way most people say goodbye.

"For what?" No matter how hard he tried, Erik was never going to understand this girl.

Her smile becoming gentler, Carson turned her glance from his face to the bandaged arm and back to the ivory mask. "For whatever you need me to be sorry about and more."

"I don't want a Sue's pity," he snapped.

"Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Erik. But I do not offer you my pity. I wish for you to know that you are not alone. I, at least, regret your pain."

"Fancy words."

No longer distant, her eyes transfixed his with terrible ferocity. "Erik. I mean it. I am sorry. We all carry the wolves of loneliness and anger in our hearts. Yours simply howl louder."

In a whisper, "And if they become all I can hear?"

"Then I am truly, truly sorry."

At last he accepted the sincerity in her earnest features and nodded.

"Okay. Goodbye, Erik. Good luck."

The man softened. "Goodbye, Eileen. Go home."

"Aye-aye, Phantom!"

Carson filled her mind with the sensation of sharing a body with EVALPIG. She imagined Middle-earth colors, textures, and music. Legolas, Tor, Gimli, and Aragorn danced through her head until her heart nearly burst from longing. The Phantom and his lair faded as she concentrated on another world. When the girl yearned for Middle-earth with all of her being, something came free. Riding a wave of emotion and memory, Carson embarked on a race to save her soul.

* * *

_I'm back!_

Screaming in exhilaration, Carson slammed into her own body. Immediately, she knew the feelings of the Phantom's world had been mere shadows of reality.

_Who are you? _demanded a haughty voice.

_I am Carson Eileen McArthur. _Every single syllable secreted joy. _ And this is my body. Get the heck out of it. _

_You have no power here. I am in charge._

_EVALPIG, right?_

_That's Elemenestra Victoria Anariel Lucy Phillipa Isabel Greenhow to you!_

_Whatever. _As she spoke, Carson felt each of her limbs. She triumphed in their eager response to her will. _Does this body look like an Elemenestra-thingy to you? No. It looks like a Carson. I can prove it. Carsons have shrunken stretch marks from losing weight. Carsons get blackheads and have boring eye colors. Carsons fall off horses and get beat up by their best friends. And only a Carson could have been so infernally stupid as to get trapped into signing her free agency over to the spawn of Satan._

_I am the greatest thing that's ever happened to this body._

_Oh, heck no. _Carson visualized punching EVALPIG. Her mental fist collided with EVALPIG's face with a satisfying thud.

_Ouch! You heathen!_

_Whoa – that actually worked? Yes! _ She threw another mental punch.

_Stop this!_

_Never. I want my life back._

The Sue-voice laughed shrilly. _Don't you get it, you stupid girl? You are a Sue now. You're never going to have your pathetic parochial life back._

Furious, Carson hit harder. _You lie._

_You are so hopeless. Why not give in? _EVALPIG hit back. Saccharine yet repulsive, her voice echoed in Carson's mind.

_Because I am Carson. _Here at last was firm ground. _Being a Sue would be dishonorable. It would mock my Creator and everything I stand for. And, well…. death before dishonor._

Elemenestra Victory Anariel Lucy Phillipa Isabel Greenhow retreated before the passionate words. She slipped a momentarily lost her hold on the teenager's body. It was enough. Carson seized that moment. With a Herculean effort, she hurled EVALPIG out. At last she had gained the solitude of her own body. Now the girl simply had to face the horrendous mess the abhorrent Sue had created. Inhaling deeply, Carson opened her eyes.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hopefully I can get back to updating regularly. As always, reviews are appreciated, and flames will be used to make this authoress a better one. My apologies for the formatting issues. I couldn't figure out how to get the strike-through effect to work. Also, whoever spots the random inserted unidentified quote gets cookies!**

**Until next time,**

**AiH**


	28. SelfAbuse

**Disclaimer: If I owned it, I would have met some wonderful people and been to some amazing places. As I have neither hugged Orlando Bloom nor been to New Zealand, I do not own it.**

* * *

Faramir watched the girl as she tossed and turned. Limbs flailing about wildly, she appeared to be having some sort of fit. The Steward gripped his sword hilt, knuckles white with tension.

With a soft click as a key was turned in the lock, the heavy wooden door swung open. A brown head poked in.

"My lord?"

"Yes, Tor?" Faramir spoke without taking his wary eyes from the unconscious teenager.

"The King wished me to inform you that Legolas has left the Houses of Healing and is once again in the citadel." Tor shot a nervous glance at the thrashing girl.

"Meaning we must take care not to let her out."

"Has she – er – shown any signs of improvement, my lord?"

"She has yet to wake."

"Sir," Tor began tentatively, then continued on in a rush, "I hope you know that Candorien has never acted this way before in her life. It is entirely unprecedented. I – I do not think she can have been in her right mind."

"Hmm." Faramir looked at the young man, his stern gray eyes softening momentarily. "An intriguing thought. Give Legolas my wishes for his good health, will you?"

Recognizing the dismissal, Tor inclined his head. "Yes, my lord."

As the door thudded shut behind him, the girl opened her eyes.

"If you stop trying to count me ribs, I promise not to sing the Llama Song again," she mumbled blearily and blinked. The room – and Faramir's disapproving face – swam slowly into view. "Oh, hello, Faramir. To what do I owe this hon…" her voice trailed away as her face quickly went from tan to scarlet to purple to green. It finally settled on a dirty gray, the color of unwashed socks.

"Remembering?" said Faramir rather nastily.

"What have I done?" she croaked.

"Everything you remember, multiply by ten, and that will be about it."

"Ugh." The girl closed her eyes and remembered. She was insulting all her friends in the brattiest fashion, dancing with some scantily clad man, making out with members of the Guard, and attempting to do something quite unspeakable to Legolas. There were others where those memories came from, but she felt no inclination to view them. Gray eyes open once more, Carson turned, devastated, to Faramir. "Kill me."

"I cannot," he replied, pleased to notice her color had changed from gray to stark white. "Not without a trial, at least."

"Is Legolas going to be all right? I'm so sorry. I had no idea, never meant to…" She fell silent.

"Please, Candorien. Excuses? At least take responsibility for your actions."

"But I didn't do them! I was having some strange fantasy about the Phantom of the Opera! Oh, Valar. How can I ever face Aragorn and Arwen again? Illuvatar – I'll never be able to look Legolas in the face. I'd hate me if I were him. Heck – I already hate me!"

Candorien leapt to her feet. Barely aware of her surrounds, the girl paced about the room. Every now and then, she looked up from her mutterings and turned her gaze on Faramir.

"I didn't actually do those horrible things, did I?" she asked. Her gray eyes pleaded for him to shake his head and say it was all her imagination.

Faramir almost wished her could relieve the pathetic desperation in those eyes. Almost. "Oh, believe me, you did it."

Squawking in fury, Carson set to punching and kicking every inch of her skin she could easily reach. Puzzled and disturbed, the man stared at her blankly. He had never seen a person use their own body as a punching bag before.

"I – hate – you!" the girl grunted, punctuating each word with a blow. "You stupid, fat, ugly, horrible, immature, mundane, ghastly, emotional, fallible, pathetic, putrid, vile, mistaken, foolish, hideous, enormous, insipid, grotesque, grim, grisly, gruesome waste of space!"

The Steward of Gondor raised one dark eyebrow in surprise as the torrent of the self-inflicted verbal and physical abuse continued. Was this the remorseful action of an impulsive teenage girl or the carefully planned subterfuge of a Sue? It was impossible to tell which.

After five minutes, the flurry of punches and curses died down. Chest heaving, Candorien brushed a lock of sweaty hair out of her face. She lifted her eyes to meet Faramir's gaze. His other eyebrow climbed slowly up to meet the first one. A deep blush spread across the girl's cheeks. "That was uncalled for, and I apologize."

"Angry?" His light tone taunted her.

"I despise myself. Given the recent turn of events, wouldn't you? Don't answer that. I'm sure you already do. So," she said hesitantly, face still a dark rose, "what is going to happen to me?"

"For the time being, you will remain in this room – which, you will note, has been furnished so you can cause no further trouble."

Carson looked about herself for the first time. The room was Spartan in the extreme with boring cream plastered walls. A small pallet in the corner upon which she had been lying earlier was the only furniture. The thick door locked from the outside and was sturdy enough to withstand a troll. There were no windows. And, Carson noticed with a twinge of unease, her shirt and trousers had very long sleeves tied to her wrists and ankles with such incredibly complicated knots that she could never hope to get them undone.

"Was that really necessary?" she asked Faramir bitterly.

The man shuddered involuntarily. "Yes. It was absolutely necessary."

For a moment, Candorien contemplated beating herself up again. Curiosity overcame masochism, however. "All right, so I remain in this room for a while. Then what?"

"The King will make a judgment in your case. He must decide whether you were acting of your own will or being controlled by a Mary-Sue." Faramir wrinkled his nose in distaste. Carson couldn't blame him. The word "Mary-Sue" ought to strike fear, fury, and nausea into the hearts of all handsome males. "Either way, it will be a few days. You are not to receive any visitors besides Aragorn and myself. If Aragorn declares you to be innocent, life will simply be awkward for a short while. If he decides you are guilty… I am not sure what will happen."

Closing her eyes, Candorien stiffened her resolve. She would not cry, no matter how tempting it was. Not in front of this man to whom her tears meant nothing. "Do you think I'm guilty, Master Sue-Hunter?"

Faramir pursed his lips. Without saying a word, he surveyed the girl. She flushed again under his intense scrutiny but stared determinedly back all the same, chin up, eyes with pride. The Steward thought a moment more. "I am not sure what you are."

As soon as Faramir had gone, Candorien threw herself across the pallet. Escape was not an option – nor did she feel inclined to any type of subterfuge. The despondency that quickly settled over her would not lift. Instead, the girl was stuck in a cycle of the terrible Sue-memories set on repeat. Sick to her soul, Carson buried her face in her hands. Although she ground her palms into her eyes, she could not black out the horrendous images. Within ten minutes, she was screaming.

* * *

"Wake up, sleepies! Time to be going, yes!"

Carson startled awake, the echoes of a Gollum-like voice ringing in her ears. She looked about wildly for the speaker, half-expecting to see a shriveled gray frog-like creature with a hidden agenda, but she was utterly alone in the depressing windowless room.

_I must have dreamt the voice. Hmm. I wonder what time it is. This is _so _going to mess with my melatonin schedule._

Yawning, the girl rose and walked over to the door. She knew it would be locked, but she gave it a nudge with her foot anyway. Defeated, Candorien leaned against the door and slid down onto the floor. Pressing her ear to the tiny crack, she listened with all her might. There were times when eavesdropping was objectionable; this was definitely not one of them.

"Hail, Midir! What news from my lord Faramir?" Deep, rich, and low, the first voice had a laughing lilt to it.

"Any sound from behind the door?" The second speaker sounded nervous and uneasy.

"Nay," chortled the first man. "It's been quiet as Rath Dinen down here."

"You are lucky," said Midir. "The girl wailed like a dying animal on my shift – they say she almost attacked Lord Faramir."

"That mouse? Not likely."

"You have no idea, Caldon. I was here when the order came to lock her in. She fell into some kind of fit. Lord Faramir looked most disturbed when he left …. And that was before the screaming started."

_So I disturbed him, did I? Good,_ thought Carson with fierce satisfaction.

"I do not know, Midir." Caldon seemed to be beginning to have his doubts. "What was your message for me?"

"The King is going to see the prisoner."

_Gulp. Aragorn. Gulp. _

"When?" A hurried scuffling and a few muffled oaths told Carson that at least one man had scrambled madly to his feet.

"Now." The new voice prompted even more scuffling.

"My lord," said the two guards at once. "I beg your pardon," continued Midir. "I had no idea you would consider this such an urgent matter."

"Peace. Caldon, unlock that door, please."

Candorien jumped up and dashed halfway across the room. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind her back, eyes downcast, she assumed a marching band position

A single ray of light pierced the darkened room as the door creaked open. When the light reached her, Carson lifted her chin and raised her eyes. The King of Gondor and Arnor stepped into the room. Immediately he saw the tense figure and her glittering gaze and recognized them for what they were: a silent challenge. Aragorn shut the door behind him, leaving the two alone in the darkness. For a long while he said nothing.

"Candorien." The name dripped disappointment. It cut Carson to the quick and hurt far more than any shouting words ever could.

The girl did not reply.

"Candorien, why?"

Still she said nothing.

"In order to judge wisely, I must seek understanding. I cannot come to that understanding if you do not talk to me. I have to know why you did these horrible things. They are not like you. What has changed?"

Bitterness welled up in Carson's soul. "Why does everyone assume I did these things?"

"The number of eyewitnesses is quite staggering."

She waved this away. "I would never choose to do those things – never. Have you been so blinded by the poison of others and the power of Lady Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow as to forget who I am? What motivation could I possibly have?"

"Lady Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow left for the Shire five days ago. Berenglorion went with her. She has no power over me," Aragorn said coolly. "And as to motivation, your infatuation with Legolas was plain for all to see."

_Ouch. Was I that infatuated? Probably. Girl sees elf. Girl meets elf. Girl talks to elf. Girl falls head over heels for elf. Isn't that how it usually goes?_

"Grumble grumble gaggle snort."

"Excuse me?"

"I honestly did not choose to do any of this."

"Candorien… for every action, there is a consequence."

"Yes, my lord."

"I believe that you did not mean for events to turn out as they did. However," he held up a hand for silence, "there is still a consequence."

"I am sorry." Her eyes dropped for the first time. "Illuvatar, I am sorry."

"I believe you, but still I must act."

"Very well. Is it to be death?"

"Public humiliation followed by banishment. Or…"

"Yes?"

"Or you can leave Middle-earth now – tonight – and never return. I am sorry, Candorien, but you have overstayed your welcome here."

Carson mulled this over in her mind. "Thank you for your candor. I will go. I wish it didn't have to end this way."

"So do I." Turning on his heel, Aragorn opened the door and was gone.

_So that's the ultimatum, eh? Banish myself or be banished _and _humiliated? Not much of a choice. Valar, I really messed up this time. _Carson sat on the pallet and pulled her knees up to her chin. As yet, she could not bear to consider contemplating the near-pornographic memories of EVALPIG's rampage. _That's it. I'm going home._

Although she still could not remember the gating spell, it did not matter. Erik had been right; magic was much more than spells and gestures. It was wanting something desperately with every fiber of one's being. Carson certain had that desire.

_Take me home, _she thought, wishing for ruby red slippers so she could click the heels together. _There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home._

* * *

Darren got gingerly to his feet. It felt as though he had tried to play tackle football with the ground – and lost. Beside him in the green grass lay a blond girl, the remnants of what had once been his friend. Grimacing in disgust, the young man trudged off toward his clothes and car as heavy storm clouds formed overhead.

* * *

**Author's Note: My apologies for the delay. I blame AP classes, marching band, and the lack of free time and sleep. Review?**


	29. Point of No Return

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Tolkien owns the world.**

**A/N: My apologies. Three months' absence is unforgivable. I promise I shall not do such terrible things to you again. **

* * *

The girl woke to the sound of gently falling rain. Body pressed into the wet grass, she felt raindrops sliding down her neck. It was a delicious feeling. She lay in the rain, staring at a blade of grass just beyond her nose. Thoroughly soaked, Carson wondered what life as a raindrop would be like. _Probably very Zen,_ she concluded.

"Carson Eileen McArthur! What are you doing? Come inside this instant!" Her mother's shrill tones floated out the back door, sliding through the mesmerizing peace of the rain. When Carson failed to respond, Mrs. McArthur shouted again. "Carson! Get up and come inside! Stop being so foolish!"

_ Foolish is all I am anymore, _thought Carson despondently, but her mother's patience was not to be tested further. With great reluctance, the teenager rose and went in.

"What were you doing out there, dear?" demanded Mrs. McArthur. She did not give Carson a chance to answer. "Oh, you're dripping all over the wood floor! You are sopping wet! Hurry and change!"

Numbly, Carson wandered back to the laundry room. Divesting herself of the wet clothing, she concentrated on not thinking. A clean t-shirt and pair of shorts hung over the washing machine. Carson dressed in them without consciously choosing to. She paused long enough to toss her wet clothes in the proper hamper, then locked herself in her room.

Large and inviting, a queen-sized bed awaited her. Gazing at it with relief, the girl crawled between the covers. In a moment, she was out.

Sunday morning arrived on schedule, ridiculously full of sunshine. Its beauty and serenading birds mocked Carson's depression. She spent all of church debating the wisdom and folly of her actions. While helping her mother cook dinner, she mentally tore herself down until even her oblivious father asked her if she was all right. Faking a smile, Carson assured him she was.

Nothing tasted good all day. Neither the freshly baked sourdough bread nor the homemade cherry pie prompted sincere praise. To the contrary, they tasted like dirt. After dinner Carson halfheartedly did her homework and cleaned her room. Returning to the safe embrace of her bed made her the happiest she had been all day.

Monday was worse. From the moment she got up, Carson dreaded school. She contemplated drowning herself in the shower. When a half hour's hard work resulted only in extremely pruny fingers and toes, the attempt was abandoned. Consequently, she was tardy. The girl crossed the room full of staring band students to her chair and hid her face behind her music stand.

Every five minutes, Carson snuck a glance or two at Darren. He did not look at her once the entire hour. Instead, she could hear him talking loudly to the ditzy tuba player he expressed loathing for on a weekly basis. Only in the music could she find any evidence of their former friendship.

As per usual, the teenager listened for the tenor sax; they had the same part. She played to meet it, making tiny adjustments every second to her tone and articulation. Darren did the same. It was nothing special – every dedicated band member worked to make their parts fit together. Still, there was an honesty in the music. When Carson really concentrated, she was truly herself as she played – and it was the same for her classmates. They could not lie and make music at the same time.

If Carson hoped to find some relief in fencing practice that afternoon, she was sorely mistaken. Her friend could not get out of looking at her this time. As the two most advanced students, they always practiced with each other. Departure from form would prompt more questions than either felt like dealing with.

"Darren," Carson whispered as they bowed to one another. "Darren, I'm sorry."

He ignored her, busy grounding his foil.

"One, two, three!" called Mr. Anderson.

"Please, Darren," she begged. "I am so sorry. Please forgive me." The girl continued to plead for the rest of the very short match. Darren vanquished her quickly due to her distraction. After her second humiliating defeat, Carson gave up on forgiveness. Eyes glinting accusatorily from behind his fencing mask, the young man had beaten her as easily as if it were her first day with a blade. Her pride hurt, and her blood was up. It was time for battle.

"D'Arvit," she swore as the third bout began. Moments before, she had longed for his forgiveness; now she wanted nothing more than to ground his face into the dirt. Unprepared for a sudden, fierce attack, Darren lost his advantage and could not get it back.

Thirty minutes' hard fighting later, their coach finally ordered an end to the sparring. "Go run a mile," he directed cheerfully, ignoring his students' groans and complaints.

"A sane teacher would have us run before we fenced," growled a freshman. A few upperclassmen laughed. Darren and Carson scrambled out of their padded jackets and helmets to join the stream of athletes headed down to the track.

"Darren," Carson began as they jostled past one another in the doorway. Perhaps in the course of a fight she had been absolved.

He spared her one contemptuous glance. Her next words caught in her throat; Darren's contempt burned like cold iron. She fled. Legs churning, feet slamming into the pavement, Carson sprinted to the track ahead of the fencing column.

_Valar, I wish I could sprint a mile, _she thought, forced to slow down by the stitch in her side. _Or further. I could fly away then. Run and run over the horizon until I left all this behind._

The faster runners began to pass her. Carson let them, inhaling deeply. When a brown boy loomed in her peripheral vision, however, it was time to pick up the pace. Muscles burning, she pushed past the cramp. Only one more lap to go. The last quarter mile was pure torture. At last it was finished, and she struggled back to the water fountain in the fencing room.

"Carson, I didn't know you could run that fast," teased Lily, a lanky sophomore.

"Ha, yeah. Remember freshman year when you could hardly jog a half mile?" reminisced Grant, the burly, good-looking junior class president.

"Have I improved?" For the first time all day, Carson felt herself smile.

"Beyond belief," he laughed.

She was aware of Darren walking past, studiously looking away from her. Crushing guilt flashed through her, but she shoved it aside. How could she be enjoying herself when her best friend wouldn't speak to her? Her smile faltered.

"Hey, it was a compliment."

"Carson, you okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah." Lily and Grant were watching her concernedly. "Sorry. I just fazed out for a moment."

"It's all good," Lily said with a grin. "Ready for the next meet?"

Carson glanced over to where Darren was happily battling another senior guy. Her gray eyes darkened in determination. "Yes."

Grant followed her gaze. "Planning to beat King?"

The girl laughed. "I always plan to."

"Well, we hope you succeed."

"Thanks, Lily."

Just then Coach Anderson commanded their attention.

"Good practice, all. Phillips, meet me in my office after the bell. Don't forget the Marlow meet next Tuesday. See you tomorrow."

Relieved to be free, Carson hurried to the door. Tripping over someone's outstretched foot, she nearly fell. Lily steadied her.

"Need a ride home, Carson?" she asked brightly.

"Um, no, thank you." Carson's faced flushed. Somewhere behind her, people were snickering at her clumsiness. One of the snickers belonged to Darren. "I have the Corolla today."

"Oh, okay. See ya later!"

"See you."

Mortified, the girl dashed out to her Toyota. As she turned the key in the ignition, depression settled down on her like an icy blanket. She backed out of her parking spot by the band room. A familiar flash in her rearview mirror proved to be Darren chatting it up with the annoying tuba player. Carson spat a few choice Dwarfish curses and jabbed impatiently at her car radio. Rachmaninoff's Prelude in C# Minor fit her mood perfectly. Low, romantic piano filling her ears, the teenager drove away.

"I don't know why you care about him, darling."

Startled, Carson swerved, slammed on her brakes, and nearly steamrolled over a squirrel. She jerked her head around to look behind her. Smiling smugly, MEKESSG lounged in the seat behind her. Carson tore her eyes away in time to keep from running off the road.

"What are you doing here?" hissed the girl, clenching the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. "This is my world, and you are _not_ supposed to be in it."

MEKESSG waved this away with an airy hand. Beautiful as always, she was clad in jeans and a very dressy black top. Against her will, Carson coveted that top. Less low-cut than most of MEKESSG's Middle-earth get up, it was smart, classy, and had only 15 sequins – a sign of extreme restraint. Emerald eyes stared piercingly at the back of Carson's head.

The sixteen-year-old finally reached the highway. Annoyed almost into insanity, she slammed her foot on the gas pedal. The needle on the speedometer shot up to sixty-five.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Car."

"Hun, we need to talk." The words that always prefaced the beginnings of a nightmare.

"Don't 'hun' me!" Carson watched the highway, debating which back road to take. Maybe if she went really far out into the boonies, she could dump MEKESSG's body where no one would find it.

"Candy, dear, I already know where you live," remarked Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow shrewdly. "There's no need for you to try and figure out how to mislead me."

Carson swore again, this time in vehement Sindarin.

"Tut, tut. Ladies do not have mouths like that, darling."

"Ladies also keep their skirts down and bodices up," snarled Carson. She slowed down for the turn onto her country road, then hit the gas. "They are demure, sincere, kind, classy, and above all, virtuous."

"Look, Carson. Just because my little sister is – was – a tramp, that does not by any means make _me_ one."

Gray eyes locked with green for a brief instant.

"Right," Carson drawled, voice full of heavy irony.

MEKESSG blushed. "All right, so men love me."

Ignoring this blatant narcissism, the other girl asked, "Why are you hear? Shouldn't you be mucking up Middle-earth?"

"Elves are starting to bore me, dearie. I've had the Prince of Mirkwood twice and his cousin once. After a while, even perfectly muscled alabaster chests, delicately pointed ears, silky golden or ebony locks, and emerald and pearly gray eyes get old, Carson."

Carson halted at the four-way stop sign. "Is that all you think of when you see a guy, Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow?"

"Not _everything._" MEKESSG stretched like a cat. Smirking, she added, "But it's generally the first thing I notice."

They turned onto a very bumpy road filled with potholes. Conversation ceased as Carson carefully navigated the least bouncy pathway. Her hands were beginning to go numb on the steering wheel.

"Just how badly did Elemenestra Victory Anariel Lucy Phillipa Isabel mess up things for you in Minas Tirith?" wondered MEKESSG delicately as she pushed back her cuticles.

"She sexually assaulted Legolas."

"Oh! How tactless."

"Is tactless all you can say?" demanded Carson angrily. "He needed therapy, I lost everyone's respect, and Aragorn himself practically kicked me out of Middle-earth. My best friend won't talk to me; I've hurt so many people I care about. I'm so depressed I could barely get out of bed this morning. My horse somehow got stranded in Middle-earth. My mother is staring to question my sanity…tactless does not even begin to cover it!"

"Tactless is our way of saying all that."

"Do you and your immoral sister even have ethics or standards of any sort?"

"What Elemenestra did to you was unethical," MEKESSG admitted. "But we have few rules other than that."

"How is it that what she did to me was wrong but subjecting males to your will is perfectly all right?"

"Because all we do is subjugate and control. She was attempting to destroy your soul entirely."

"Creepy. So what happened to EVALPIG?"

MEKESSG frowned at the moniker. "She forsook her body for yours. When you kicked her out, she had no body to flee into. She died."

"I did to her what she wanted to do to me?"

"Oh, no," the older girl laughed. "My sister will live again in a few weeks."

Drat. They were at Carson's driveway. She pulled in and parked by her mother's Buick. Thinking back to an earlier conversation, she remarked, "I guess this makes you Queen Bee, eh?"

The smile on MEKESSG's face sent shivers crawling up Carson's spine. "For now, Candy. For now."

Carson slowly shifted her Corolla into park. She turned off her CD player and removed the key from the ignition. Still, the girl did not open her door. Getting out of the car would change things. If she let MEKESSG out of her car and into her house, life would never be the same. There would be no going back to plain old Carson. It was a bridge she simply did not want to cross.

_Past the point of no return,_ sang her Voice of Reason in a credible imitation of the Phantom.

With a slight twitch, the teenager fished a piece of gum out of her purse. Citrusmint. The taste relaxed and calmed her. "Seriously, what are you doing here?"

"I told you," MEKESSG sighed, suddenly irritated. She sat up, pulling a designer bag onto her shoulder. "I got bored with elves. They really don't change at all. They fail to be diverting after a while. And anyway, I thought I should work on developing my nonromantic relationships. Since Elemenestra currently does not exist and most of my other friends are off making conquests, that leaves you. Don't worry. Your parents believe I'm a long-lost cousin come to complete my senior year of high school here. Come on, Candy."

The beautiful redhead climbed gracefully from the Toyota. Mouth agape, Carson followed. MEKESSG strode leisurely up the front walk, stilettos clacking on the concrete. Carson wandered along behind, full of dread and about to cry. Her mother opened the front door and ran out to embrace MEKESSG, laughing and chattering a million miles a minute.

_Past the point of no return. No going back now._

_

* * *

**Author's Note: I am so sorry for abandoning this for so long. I promise another update within the week. How does Christmas Day sound? Or would Christmas Eve be better? **_


	30. Deal with the Devil

**Celebrytie Aris Channas – Here comes your Christmas Eve update!**

**Emily – Thanks, Panzee! We've come a long way since you were my only reader on FG&EF, and I'm glad you're still reading. Merry Christmas, dearie!**

**Ames – When I got online late last night, I figured you'd forgotten. No worries! And if any one gets to deliver a boot to the head, I'll let you do it. **

**Disclaimer: I own ideas; others own substance.**

* * *

Five horrible minutes of "Dear Auntie Louisa!" and "Oh, Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana, we're so glad you've come!" passed before Carson could get a word in edgewise.

"Gotta-go-do-homework-'bye!" she babbled as the older females paused for breath.

Sprinting to her bedroom, the girl carefully leaned against the door behind her. She sighed in relief. For a short moment, at least, peace was granted to her. Even a thin wall provided protection from MEKESSG. Bothered and bewildered, Carson took her alto sax from its case and began to practice. Her fingers moved warily over the keys – she half-expected MEKESSG to come barging in at any moment, locked door or no. As she picked out melodies by ear, lyrics played in her mind.

_I think there's something in the wind that feels like tragedy's at hand._

"I always thought you had good instincts, until that last great debacle. What happened?"

Carson tripped over her own feet, fell to the floor, and smacked herself in the face with her mouthpiece. Blood oozed from a cut on her lip. She was getting flippin' _sick_ of people surprising her. "What the…fish sticks are _you_ doing here?"

"I came to give you advice," said the fluffly pink bunny with translucent wings in an affronted tone. "I did not realize my assistance was unwanted."

"Mom's right; I eat way too much sugar. Valar, more hallucinations." The girl gingerly removed her neck strap and tenderly placed her alto on the bed. Then "Eeeek!", she leapt up and ran out of the room.

For the rest of the evening and night, Carson hid out in the small shed where Hasufel's horse feed was kept. She nestled herself among the many sacks of feed and watched Bones on her iPod. Her cell phone lay on the wooden pallet next to her. It was turned off because she could not bear the emotional roller coaster each text message brought. At first her heart jumped to her throat on the off chance it was Darren, but it quickly fell past her navel upon learning it wasn't. Carson relaxed to the decomposing bodies and romantic tension of her favorite TV show, falling asleep just before the battery ran out.

Over the course of the next few days, the girl came to feel as though her life had been turned upside down. Everywhere she went, MEKESSG followed. Her only safe havens were English and trig. Even the sanctity of band, chemistry, and fencing had been violated. MEKESSG took first chair flute, made wondrous perfumes during chem experiments, and sparred daily with Darren. Somehow she managed to get herself voted Most Likely to Succeed, Best Personality, Best Smile, Most Musical, Most Artistic, Best Dressed, Best All-Around, and Biggest Flirt in the senior Who's Who. Carson couldn't quite get her head wrapped around that one.

Darren hissed one vile remark about Carson's new best friend, then continued with the silent treatment. Her other friends drifted away as they failed to gain MEKESSG's approval. Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow dragged her new protégé on expensive shopping sprees – which Carson enjoyed in spite of herself; awkward double dates – with guys Carson had never spoken to; and extensive spa visits – simply painful. Each day she felt more and more like EVALPIG and less and less like herself. Loneliness and fear welled up in her until she could hardly breathe, but she had no one to turn to. Hasufel had been left in Middle-earth, and she didn't dare try to retrieve him. Still, the little horse feed shed was the only safe place at home. Even without Hasufel, its horsey smell promised relief and safety with every breath the girl took.

_Up, up, up, up the stairs we go – until we come to …. the tunnel!_

No secret plot was complete without a Gollum moment, and for some reason, they always fit. Granted, Carson was climbing hay bales rather than steps, and her tunnel was strictly vertical, but still the Andy Serkis voice murmured in her head.

At the top of her hay bale mountain, the girl paused. She looked around the deserted shed as if expecting to see something besides fifty-pound bags of horse feed and abandoned tack. The coast was clear. With a sigh of relief, Carson found her hole and slid down into a nest of hay. Writhing around to find a comfortable position, she pulled her hood over her head to protect the back of her neck from the prickly hay. The girl put in her headphones and tuned into Bones. Her breathing slowed, and she drifted off, secure in the morbid humor that had become part of her nightly ritual.

* * *

"So you're here to strike a deal with the devil?"

"I rather thought I was fleeing her, actually," Carson grinned.

The tall, wigged naval officer stared down at her in firm disapproval. "Nowhere in any canon have I heard mention of a female Devil."

"My dear Norrington, have you ever met Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow?"

"No, but I've met you." He almost smiled.

They stood facing each other on the deck of _The Flying Dutchman_. Carson fought the temptation to put her hands on her hips. She was sixteen; it was high time to grow up. Norrington was blocking her access to the rest of the ship, but that was all right. It was Norrington she needed to talk to anyway.

"If you need to speak to the captain, he has gone ashore."

Carson took a half step back. She felt as though she had just been punched in the solar plexus. It wasn't as if she loved Will, but the thought of him and Elizabeth doing…things made her physically ill. Of course, the thought of any two peoples doing…things made her ill. The man's bitter, mocking tone only added insult to injury.

"Actually," she swallowed back the bile, "it was you I had business with. I have a problem – okay, several problems," the girl added upon his look of heightened disbelief. "And I need your help."

"Go on." He sounded just like the Commodore she knew and respected in spite of her piratical inclinations.

"Well, I have a feeling you're in with Faramir and the Phantom in their Anti-Sue League or whatever it is they have, and so I thought you'd have the knowledge and skills to help me. I need to get rid of a Sue. A big Sue. And a little Sue – the me-Sue. And if you could somehow help me make amends for being possessed by a Sue and trying to rape Legolas, that would be great, too," she finished all in a rush, then glanced up at Norrington, trying to look as innocent, helpless, and pitiful as possible.

He didn't buy it. "And what makes you think I will help you?"

"You're an expert on regrets; I figured your might want to help this idiot of a girl fix some of hers."

"Hmm." Norrington looked down at the deck as he considered her words.

For the first time in their conversation, Carson took time to check out her surroundings. It was a clear night, and the stars shone brilliantly. The ship lay at anchor out of sight of land; she guessed the Commodore had no desire to be reminded of Will and Elizabeth's tryst. Rather than fume, the sea moved gently, a mother rocking her child to sleep. Yawning, the girl balanced on first one foot and then the other. She could not sleep until her business was complete.

"All right, Miss McArthur," the man said after a few minutes' silence. "I am willing to help you. It will not be easy, and you're going to have to do exactly what I say."

Carson's gray eyes brightened with hope. "Obedience. I can do that."

"Doubtful. Still," he examined her thoughtfully, "it is worth a shot. Faramir would like to swear by your Sue-dom, but I'm not so sure. You don't seem perfect enough to me – or particularly pretty, to be honest. And Will has told me a few things." Then with a perplexed frown, "It makes no sense to me that I love Elizabeth, and she loves Will, yet Will likes you, ill-bred guttersnipe and hoodlum that you are."

As Carson was currently clad in her rattiest jeans and oldest hoodie, she could make no defense to this.

"Like Faramir, I want you out of our collective hair as soon as possible. Tonight has demonstrated to me, however, that you are not going to leave any of us alone until you are at peace."

"So I'm like a ghost!"

He glared at her pointedly.

"Ooops, sorry. I'll just sew my mouth shut now…"

"Go ahead." He took an emergency sewing kit from his jacket pocket and tossed it to her, deadpan. "And so, to get rid of the perpetual problem you pose, I will help you defeat the Sues, grow up, and regain your friends. Now," Norrington paused and looked her dead in the eyes. "Do we have an accord?"

The pirate phrase brought laughter to Carson's lips, but it died at the man's dour expression.

"Yes, my lord," she found herself saying formally, "we have an accord."

"Excellent." He was suddenly brisk. "Well, Miss McArthur, we have a great deal of planning before us. If you will follow me…"

Carson walked gingerly into the underbelly of the ship, feeling very much as if she had just made a deal with the Devil.

* * *

"Try that again."

Carson did not know how late it was. She could feel exhaustion burning behind her temples. Soon, soon, she would have to submit to its impatient demands, but for now the wishes of another ruled her.

Sighing inwardly, Carson balanced tankard and tray against her hip. She walked over to the table at which Norrington sat, not too fast, not too slow, and smiled saucily. "Here's your ale, sir," she said, placing the alcohol in front of him. "Can I get you anything else?"

His eyes scanned her up and down. "Not at the moment, no."

Somehow her smile stayed up. "Very well, sir," and she flounced off. The girl turned at the end of the room, dropping the flirty persona. "How was that?" she asked wearily.

"An improvement," Norrington admitted. "But you can do better. There is a fine line here between a good bar maid and a whore. Smile, but don't make the men think you're interested in selling more than food an drink." He sipped delicately at his ale, deliberately ignoring the blushing teenager.

Angrily, she demanded, "How can you know the behavior of the men of Gondor?"

The Commodore smirked. "I know soldiers; I know sailors; and trust me, I know men. They're all the same, really. You are sixteen, without a guardian, and fair game. Consider yourself warned."

The girl gulped, face ashen pale. "Yes, sir." She wondered if she would ever recover from the humiliation of this night.

"Careful now; you'll fuel my ego." Norrington remained humorless. He looked meaningfully at the stack of empty glasses beside the door to her right. "Again."

* * *

Seven days passed. Seven days of sleeping through her classes and struggling to catch up. Seven days of dodging MEKESSG's snide questions and carefully planned outings. Seven days of pretending Darren did not exist – until fencing, when they both tried to beat the snot out of each other. Seven nights of swallowing her pride and submitting to the will of another. Seven night of learning stoichiometry and solving trig identities. Seven night of cleaning, cooking, ironing, dancing, running, and sashaying. Seven days and seven nights to make her the perfect maid, waitress, and serving wench.

On this seventh, final night, Commodore James Norrington, first mate on _The Flying Dutchman_, eyed his creation critically. Carson stood before him, gaze cast meekly down. One thing only he had been unable to change: her clothes. She remained still in tattered jeans and a ragged hooded sweatshirt. In every other subject, however, he had met with little to no resistance. The girl wanted his assistance so badly that even her dignity was no longer an obstacle.

"Well," Norrington said at last, finished with his survey. "It is time for the final test. Are you prepared, Miss McArthur?"

"Yes, sir," she mumbled without lifting her eyes from the ground.

"Very well. The watch is about to change. You are to go down to the galley, assist the cook in serving dinner, and then wait and bus the tables. It's just thirty men. I believe you can handle that."

"Yes, sir."

Norrington felt a strange urge to kick this subservient stranger. He had asked for this, but he secretly wondered if so high a degree of obedience would ruin the spunky spitfire his captain liked. To prove to himself the little hellion still existed, he ordered, "And McArthur, remove that jacket. It is no uniform for a serving wench upon His Majesty's – I mean, _The Flying Dutchman_."

To his great surprise, Carson merely grimaced and calmly unzipped the jacket. Taking it off, she revealed a short-sleeved navy shirt with the phrase "A87" printed on one side and a lacy white cami beneath.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Er, that is all. Report to the cook immediately."

Dismissed, Carson's hand snapped to a sarcastic salute. "Aye-aye, sir!" Spinning on one heel, she marched from the room and off to the galley.

Carson greeted the cook with warmth. He treated her like any of the oafish seamen, grumbling about her clumsiness. The girl zipped around clearing tables, washing tankards, and sorting silverware so the food line would move easier. She checked few biscuits for weevils until the cook's disapproving glare froze her in her tracks. After half an hour of insanity, dinner was ready, and the bells rang, releasing the watch.

Men pounded down ladders and into the mess. While Cookie dished out steams ladlefuls of who knew what, Carson filled mugs with ale, beer, and rum, handed men biscuits without thinking about the weevils, and set silverware on all the trays. In a brief moment of peace, she thought that an octopus would make the perfect waitress. When everyone had gone through the line, all the girl had to do was refill drinks, fetch napkins, and clean tables as the men stumbled off to the foc'sle and some well-deserved sleep. Even this slowed eventually. The last man got up from his table, full and ale-sodden. Finally Carson was finished.

Weary in her bones, the girl turned to leave. Norrington met her at the door of the galley with her jacket and a wry smile.

"Pity the men don't have money to tip," he commented as she shoved her arms through the sleeves and drew the hood about her face.

"Mmph." Carson put her hands in her pockets.

A figure appeared at the top of the ladder leading to the deck, dark against the starry night sky. "Carson," it choked. "Carson, is that you? What are you doing here?"

* * *

**Author's Note: Merry Christmas, my dear readers!**


	31. Ailin

**Ames – You love James. You lurve James.**

**Em – XD **

**CAC – I'm so glad my chapter made your day better! **

**Slayer3 – I have great plans for this Sue pain. Great plans, indeed.**

**Disclaimer: I own a few ideas, even fewer characters, and practically no setting.**

* * *

For a moment Carson hesitated, debating. Then she tore herself from Norrington's side and sprinted to the foot of the ladder. The figure at the top hastened down it and held out his arms. Carson slammed into him, knocking him backwards. Will steadied them both. She buried her face in his shoulder.

_Home, home, home,_ sang a tired voice in her mind.

He patted her on the back awkwardly. Norrington met Will's gaze. The first mate seemed vaguely annoyed. _Why are you doing this? _his eyes asked.

_I can't help it. She's like a little lost puppy. _ My _little lost puppy._

Carson lifted her head from his shoulder, gray eyes dancing wickedly. "You still smell like my Aunt Martha. Been hanging around any dead bodies lately?"

"Little lost puppy indeed," snorted Norrington, half-laughing. The expression of mortified disgust on Will's face was priceless.

With a look of great distaste, the captain of The_ Flying Dutchman_ sniffed the top of the girl's head. "I smell?" he demanded, smiling at her.

"Yes, you do." Carson stepped back a bit and grinned wolfishly. She straightened his collar and moved the claps on the locket he wore around to the back. "Like rotting corpses… kinda sad, really. I used to think you smelled nice."

"Sue alert," the Commodore muttered between forced, hacking coughs.

Carson jerked her hands back as if burned. "Sorry," she mumbled shamefacedly, sticking them resolutely in her pockets.

Will moved to diffuse the suddenly tense situation. "You little hypocrite. If I smell of death, you reek of a worse stench. Hmm, let's see." He leaned towards her and inhaled deeply. "What have we here? Sweat - lots of it – old meat, and stale drink. Wait. Everybody freeze." The man turned, eyes narrowed angrily. "James," he hissed. "Why does she smell of alcohol? I detect rum. And beer. This girl is underage, and she has already proven herself to be mentally incompetent."

James sighed. "She may smell of alcohol, but I promise you she has not had any alcohol to drink. I am not stupid."

"As if I'd drink the stuff you give your men," Carson sneered, peeved. "I mean, seriously – weevils in the biscuits? And how am I mentally incompetent?"

Both of the men spared her a pitying glance.

"Forgive me for jumping to conclusions, James. It's just that... the thought of this one with alcohol in her…"

"Truly terrifying," said Norrington dryly.

Still annoyed, the sixteen-year-old stood glaring at each man in turn until they noticed her.

"McArthur," Norrington waned, "don't take an objective evaluation personally."

"Yes, sir." Abashed, Carson looked down at her feet and bit her lip.

_Anger. Anger, yes, Precious. But we needs their help. Swallow anger now; get revenge later._

"Carson, are you all right?" A callused hand touched her chin and lifted it upward. Will's brown eyes, curious and confused, met her gray ones. Silently the girl shook her head. AS she did so, her hood fell off.

"What the…?" Will reached out a hand and touched her face. "Your hair. It's gone… and it's dark. Why?"

Carson tossed her head, shaking what remained of her hair from her eyes. That afternoon, she had had it cut, layered, and dyed. Her thick dirty blond mane was now a think, unremarkable brown. "Commodore Norrington and I thought a bit of a change was needed." She gazed at him imploringly, eyes begging for him not to diss her haircut.

"Well, it is a definite change, but it does make it easier to do this. " Suddenly the man tousled her hair until it was unrecognizably messy.

"Argh!" Carson struggled to fix her new 'do. "You…"

Laughing, Will held up his hands in surrender. "Don't worry. I really do like it."

"Thanks." She hugged him on impulse. Will's arms came up around her and held her close. She leaned against him and hugged tighter. "I'm sorry."

'For what?" His voice sounded a few inches above her ears.

"For doing things I shouldn't," she whispered into his collarbone.

"Oh. Well, Fate has its whims, and we cannot control them."

"But we should. We should act, not be acted upon. Oh, gosh, sorry."

"It's all right." But it wasn't. She could hear the rage in his voice. "It isn't your fault I seem to have no choices."

"Will, I" –

"All right, that is enough." Norrington, all but forgotten, grabbed hold of Carson's hood and yanked her away from his captain. "I see now that you two really are self-destructive around each other. You,' he rounded on Carson," turn from an almost rational young woman to a mooning, love struck, babbling idiot. And _she_," he glared at Will, 'Is your Achilles' hell. I can see that I am going to have to be very careful with you two. Very careful," the man repeated, noticing the way they were looking at each other in a kind of ashamed desperation. "Enough," he groaned, tugging once more on the girl's hood. "Carson, you need to get to bed. Will, you saw Elizabeth not a week ago. Are you really this fickle?'

Pained, Will looked down. "James, you know I'm not."

Norrington ignored this. 'How can I help you when you keep trying to get all romantic every time you see him, McArthur?"

Carson flushed, humiliated. "I apologize, sir. Of course you can't. I will not aggravate you this way again. I… I am so sorry, Will."

He glanced at her and softened. She really was pathetic looking with that short hair. Will took the girl's hand and squeezed it gently. Then he let it go, sorrow in his dark eyes. "Vaya con Dios, Carson. Go with God.'"

* * *

"Have you met the new girl?" Rhea asked her friend. "Have you worked a shift whit her yet?"

"Not yet." Lia balanced three bowls of stew ion one arm. "My mother took me to visit her family in Lossarnach. Why? Is she half-orc or something?"

Rhea laughed. "No. She is strange, though."

"Hmm." Smiling saucily, Lia strode out among the tavern patrons to deliver stew and refill mugs. "So what makes the new girl strange?" she wondered when the two girls met up again behind the bar.

"We're getting busy,' commented Rhea. "I think she is out in the pump yard washing up. Go tell her to come in?"

"All right, Rhea." The tall, lithe figure made its way purposefully to the inn door and out in the courtyard. She paused, looking about, and saw what she guessed must be the new girl.

"Hey, you!" She called, embarrassed that she did not know the girl's name. "It is crowded inside! Come in before Caleb comes out to get you."

The new girl rose from beside the pump and turned to face Lia. "My name is Ailin," she said quietly.

"Ailin." The buxom blonde looked her up and down. She was of average height, dressed unremarkably in a brown skirt and simple white shirtwaist. Short, dark hair fell in her eyes. Ailin didn't look like much, and Lia had yet to see evidence of the "strangeness" Rhea had remarked upon. "Let's go inside."

"Okay." Ailin's gray eyes brightened as she led the way back into the inn. "It's Lia, right?"

Two hours flew by, and still Lia did not know what to think of this new girl. Ailin moved easily, comfortably through the crowded tavern. She was polite and humble to the stressed, frazzled women, and flirted just the right amount with the men. Men of the Guard called her over to their tables to boast of a new horse or show off their weaponry. Every now and then, however, Ailin blanched at the sight of a particular group and found a thousand excuses not to wait on them.

Lia was starting to get annoyed with the dark-haired newbie. In only a few short days, Ailin had completely immersed herself in the Red Arrow. Regulars who had been coming there for years laughed and bantered with her as much as they did with Lia. The blue-eyed blond wanted to slap her. How dare Ailin steal her customers and tips with such cheerful innocence? How could she tease men-at-arms as if she knew their world? Something about her was off, and Lia was determined to figure it out.

As the sun sank beyond the walls of the city, Lia and Rhea's scrutiny began to pay off. They noticed things more easily now. The merry expression in Ailin's gray eyes was sometimes replaced for an instant by intense pain or fear, but only when she was in the relative safety of the kitchen. The rest of the time, Ailin worked quickly and efficiently, smiling sincerely all the while.

The girls had no opportunity to act on this knowledge until much later in the evening. It was almost midnight, and Ailin was busy waiting on an errand rider of the king. He had had a bit too much wine and was waxing poetic on the merits of Rohirric horses.

"You were right," Lia hissed to Rhea. "She is strange."

"Mmhmm." The older girl tossed her curly brown hair. "Men like her, though." She absentmindedly dried dishes, watching Ailin agree with the rider on some equine issue. Looking up, Rhea caught the ill-concealed fury on her friend's face. "Oh, Lia. You don't like those men anyway. You said yourself they never smile."

"They smile at _her_," growled Lia.

Rhea sighed. "Do you know anything about horses? Or Rohan? Or weapons, armor, and battle?"

"Does she?" Lia asked petulantly, pausing to relace her bodice.

"A little, I think. I've been listening as well as watching. I don't know if I like her, but men of the Guard do because she knows enough to carry on a conversation with them."

"Hmph."

The tavern door opened with a bang, and a group of raucous teenage boys tumbled in. Rhea inhaled sharply at the sight of the mud dripping from their bodies. Cleaning tonight was going to be such a pain. Behind her, Lia's blue eyes set to dancing.

"I'll get these boys, Rhee," she said quickly, all sulkiness gone from her voice. She hurried to wait on them, her gait almost a dance. Back and forth from the bar she went, toting mugs of ale and heaping platters of food. It was a lot of work, but Lia found herself amply rewarded by the smiles and compliments the boys threw her way.

Ailin finished talking to the horseman and came behind the bar to get the washrag. The girl returned to the man's table and wiped it off, pocketing his tip with a little smirk. As she did so, one of Lia's teenage courtiers broke off midsentence to look at her.

"Lia, m'love," he grinned, changing the conversation topic abruptly. "My love, my beauty, my flower, my sweet, who is that girl over there?"

"Ask her yourself," Lia sniffed, turning her gaze to one of her more adoring worshippers.

Tristan ignored her displeasure. "Oy! You, there! Girl! What's your name?"

A few wine-sodden patrons growled at him, too drunk to do anything more. His shouting hurt their aching heads, which would not be quite so aching had they not consumed quite so much ale. Ailin recognized the voice and its owner. She darted back to the kitchen, hiding in the mêlée of dishwashing. No one could know her true identity.

"Who _was _that?" the young man asked, perplexed. "She reminded me of… I forget who. Do any of you fellows know her?"

Grumbling about inconsiderate, impertinent youths, the drunken customers stood up and weaved wearily towards the door. The most sober of them paused to place a few copper coins on the table. "For her," he nodded towards the kitchen. "And Rhea," he added, catching sight of the brunette behind the bar. The man stumbled after his companions.

Rhea traipsed over to the table and cleaned it, dropping the coins into a small pouch at her waist.

"Ailin! We've got money!"

A stifled whoop emanated from the cloud of steam in the kitchen.

"Who is that girl?" Tristan wondered again.

"None of us really know," Lia told him grudgingly. "I bet she has a past – some terrible secret you're too young and virtuous to know about."

"I'm not that young," he remarked with a grin. "And she didn't look that haunted. Tell me more, Lia."

Sighing, she acquiesced. She could not command the boys' full attention until Tristan's curiosity was satiated, at any rate. "I do not know much," she slowly admitted. "Her name is Ailin of who-knows-where, daughter of nobody-knows-whom. She started work her at the beginning of the week. If you want to know anything else, you should ask her yourself," the girl added very reluctantly.

"I will." The teenage boy rose and wriggled out from between his comrades. He exchanged a few taunts with Rhea at the bar, then slipped past her into the kitchen. To his disappointment, the only person in sight was the burly, bearded cook.

* * *

Ailin snuck through the darkened streets of Minas Tirith. She had traded that ridiculous skirt for loose black trousers, a dark green tunic, and worn leather boots. Silently thanking her elven friends for showing her how to move quietly, she crept past the few houses still lit at the late hour.

For four long days, the girl had kept her head down and her mouth shut. She had accepted both tips and abuse, struggling to hide inside this barmaid persona. It had worked well enough, but not tonight. Carson needed a break.

She hesitated for a moment, relishing the cool night air on her cheeks and forearms. It was a pity Gondorian fashion did not tend to shorts and tank tops. Working at the tavern made her _sweat_. Then the respite ended, and quick, long strides carried her forward once more.

Pumping the King's rider had proved useful. Unwittingly, he gave way to her gentle flattery. Now Carson knew where the stable for extra horses lay. She had never used it before; Aragorn kept most of his mounts at the other, larger stables. Armed with this new information, the girl carefully navigated her way, picking a route free of guarded gates and soldiers' barracks.

Norrington would not approve. As a matter of fact, he had expressly forbidden her to do anything out of the ordinary. She was to be the epitome of a humble, working class girl.

_Well,_ Carson thought ironically, appraising a stone wall wit ha critical eye. _ I guess that plan is about to get shot to heck._ The girl smiled grimly to herself, then scaled the wall. She perched atop it momentarily before leaping down to land lightly on the grassy lawn.

Carson sprinted across the pasture, feet barely touching the ground. She threw her arms about the neck of a large gray shape and exhaled in relief. "Hello, beautiful."


	32. Taffy

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned the Lord of the Rings, but I do not. At the moment, all I own is an alto saxophone, two swords, a case of books, an iPod, and various clothes. And some contacts. Never forget the contacts. Need those buggers.**

* * *

A gentle breeze stirred the balmy night air. Moving slowly in aimless patterns, a dozen horses grazed leisurely while their companions slept. Surrounded by sturdy walls and soft green pastures, they ate in peace. Nothing could disturb their deep content, not even the whispers emanating from the furthest corner of the paddock.

"I mean, it's like the whole world's decided to have a giant taffy pull, and lucky me, I get to be the taffy. Really, Hasufel. I'm not Mr. Fantastic or Elastigirl or anything like that. I'm Carson. And right now, being Carson seems to mean that I epic fail at life. Not that that comes as a big surprise or anything, but…" The girl's voice trailed off into the darkness. Her fingers traced doodles on her gelding's neck: alphabet letters, music notes, ancient runes, even stick figures. Hasufel shivered, withers twitching to rid himself of the annoying fly.

"Sorry, love. I just feel like Carson-in-the-middle. Like I don't know who I am or what I want or how to get it. Part of me wants to just go home and wait for the storm to blow over – to bury my head in the sand like an ignorant ostrich. But hiding my face won't stop the lions from eating me. Although perhaps hyena is a better term, come to think of it."

The rangy gray snorted in agreement and lowered his head to munch complacently on a mouthful of grass. Due to the darkness, Carson couldn't be sure, but she imagined the broken ends of weeds and grass stems floating down from his mouth. She felt rather badly for the plants.

"And then I really want my friends back, so I'll do whatever it is that Norrington wants me to. No matter how humiliating. Me, a waitress? I make a better street-sweeper. Not very good at all this girl business, Hasufel. I would probably be more satisfactory as a boy."

Hasufel's loud, wet, horsey sneeze could be taken several ways. Carson chose to go with the "Don't be silly. You would make a terrible boy." interpretation.

"Thank you. I appreciate that. Anyway, the third part of me is the Tookish bit. It's saying, 'Forget them and have fun. They can go boil their heads for all I care.' Which is a really tempting viewpoint. I want to run, Has. To run and fight and dance under the stars." She looked up at the aforementioned stars. "Glory, but they're beautiful." Carson twirled in circles, arms outstretched. Her gaze locked on the glittering white fires far above, she ignored her nearer surroundings. Then Hasufel nudged her in the small of the back with his nose. Laughing, the girl turned to her horse. "I can't run away, can I, Has?" They'll just bring me back again until I deal with it – until I face them." She sighed and laid a hand on his forehead. Her tan skin appeared pale in the cool moonlight.

"So I guess none of me wins," Carson groaned. "Come here, you long-legged lummox." She moved her hand to the gelding's withers and boosted herself easily onto his back. "The ostrich has to open her eyes and start smelling the bacon bits. Little Miss Desperate gets to waitress some more. And as for the rebel, well, she's going to have to keep a low profile." The girl took hold of Hasufel's mane, wishing she didn't have shoes. Bareback always felt better barefoot. She squeezed with her calves. Hasufel mournfully abandoned his late night snack. He took a few hesitant steps. "Come on, baby. A little faster, if you don't mind."

Smart-alecky as only a horse of Rohan could be, the gelding slowly picked up the pace.

"Master Horse, something faster than a walk is perfectly acceptable."

Horse and girl emerged from the dark corner. They made an odd sight. Hasufel plodded along while Carson bent over his neck, pleading for more speed. She felt ridiculous begging a horse but had no other options. Catching sight of a side gate into the pasture, the girl nudged her mount over to it. She leaned over to undo the simple latch, and they passed through, silent as ghosts. Safely on the other side, Carson clucked to Hasufel. He tossed his noble head, whacking her in the face with his mane, then galloped away down the hidden path to the Pelennor. Lying low could wait until morning.

* * *

"You're late."

"A teenager is never late; neither is she early. She arrives precisely when she means to." Carson met Norrington's glare with an innocent smile. "Oh, James, you missed me! No, there's no need to admit it," she stifled his indignant interjection. "I can see it in your face. Well, cheer up, sour puss. I missed you, too. No one else gripes half so well as you do."

Norrington blinked at the ridiculously happy apparition dripping muck, water, and less pleasant things on his cabin floor. Instead of the barmaid uniform they had selected, she was wearing boy's clothes. Again. He really should be used to it by now.

"Where have you been?" he asked resignedly.

"Oh, I was having this awesome dream. I was at a rock concert, and I had rail, and the frontman was singing to me, and he was reaching out his hand to pull me onto the stage, and he had these gorgeous blue eyes – I'm talking huge, radiant sapphires that make your stomach melt here – and fabulous emo hair, and his voice was perrrr-fect, and this is all meaningless to you, isn't it?"

"Spare me the fan-girl babble. One glamorous musician fantasy accounts for neither your tardiness nor your disgraceful appearance."

"Oh, that. I went horseback riding. In the dark. We happened to go through a couple of creeks. You'd be surprised how bright the stars are away from the city," she said with cheerful aplomb.

The man shook his head. He could feel a migraine coming on. Really, Carson was enough to give anyone nightmarish headaches.

"Cheer up, Norrie." Carson darted over toe the grim figure behind the desk and kissed him loudly on the cheek. "Four days without getting myself into trouble. You should be proud of me."

"The shock is too great… Are you sure no one suspects you?"

"Pretty darn. I've been trying my hardest. So when are you going to let me in on this big plan of yours? How do we catch the Sue?"

"All in due time, McArthur."

"I want to help. I want to get rid of MEKESSG forever!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"Forever?" His eyes peered into her searchingly. "Would you give up all of the power at your disposal?"

"Freely."

"The ability to charm men?"

"I'd rather they liked me for _me_, not some Sue-wile."

"How about Middle-earth? Could you give that up, Carson? Say farewell and never return?"

Carson shut her eyes. She thought of green fields, verdant woodlands, rugged mountains, and deep rivers. She remembered singing with elves, riding at the side of Kings, fighting and laughing and making jests with hobbits, shield-maidens, and all sorts of folk. Fear and fury, merriment and heartache, joy and sorrow – she had experienced all these and grown up in her favorite fantasy. Middle-earth felt dearer to her than her own world. Norrington was asking the impossible. And yet…

"Yes, I could." She opened her eyes, fully aware of the tears pooling deep within them. "And I will, if necessary." Carson paused and then asked, her voice full of longing, "Is it necessary?"

"Time will tell," said James gently. "Now, before you get some real sleep, is there anything you need?"

"A fight."

"I beg your pardon."

"Please, James. Just one teensy-weensy fencing match. Please."

He stood, stretching, then tossed of his jacket and wig. Norrington was much less imposing in black trousers and a white shirt, his dark hair in a neat, sleek ponytail. "Are you sure about this, Carson?"

"If I do not practice, my fencing coach will have my guts for garters, savvy? Yeah, I'm sure."

Norrington rummaged in his seabag for another sword and passed his to Carson. "On three," he directed, unsheathing his own blade. "One, two, three."

After a brief yet violent battle in which she had been set on her tail three times, Carson found herself forced to admit the former Commodore's skill. He had tested her defenses to determine her ability, and then pushed her to the very edge of that. It was an excellent if painful review. The girl finished it out of breath, muscles burning, several bruises already forming on her arms, legs, and rear.

"You're a great fencer," she wheezed, struggling to catch her breath.

"You're not so bad yourself, McArthur. Just watch those lunges. Sometimes you take too long to extend, leaving yourself wide open for your opponent to take advantage."

"Meaning giving you the perfect opportunity to kick my bum."

"Just so. And now, time for bed. You will need your energy tomorrow."

"Oh? Why's that?" Carson wiped the lent sword on her tunic before returning it to its owner.

"We really can't expect this calm spell to last much longer. You've had four days of peace. The flood gates will probably burst wide open tomorrow. I hope we are prepared when they do."

"Will it really be that bad?"

"Carson, you shook the very great with your fall from grace. It will take at least that much uproar to restore you to favor. And as for Sue-hunting, that is a very dangerous task indeed."

"Humph." The girl turned to the lone hammock slung by the window. It was her hammock, the place she could sleep body and mind under the careful eye of the former Commodore. Carson sat on the floor to unlace her riding boots, still caked in mud. She flung them off to the side. They were soon followed by her belt. The man looked away out of good manners. Honestly, she could be such an uncivilized creature sometimes.

"James?" Carson asked meekly, clambering into her hammock and pulling the blanket up to her chin.

"Yes?" He glanced at the gray eyes peering out from the mass of fabric.

"I'm glad you're on my side." And with a sleepy grin, she was out.

* * *

Saturday morning came far too soon. Carson was roused in the early half-l9ight by a scrawny rooster asserting his personal victory over the darkness. She tossed and turned fitfully on her pallet. Cursing the idiotic bird, the girl at last gave in to the inevitable. Filthy and wretched, she crawled out of bed and picked her way carefully through the mass of huddled bodies. The cook, his helper, lower-ranking maids, and even stable boys all slept together on the floor of the tavern's kitchen.

Ailin slunk to the courtyard, thankfully deserted at this early hour. Briskly, she washed the mud from her face and limbs with icy cool water, scrubbing so hard it hurt. Then the girl ducked into an empty stall in the stable to change her dirty trousers and tunic for an evergreen skirt and another white shirtwaist. Rumor had it that the inn had even greater custom on Saturdays, and she meant to look her best. Once she made enough in tips, she could perhaps purchase Hasufel from the King's stables.

_Of course, that would mean less sneaking around,_ Ailin thought, soaking yesterday's clothes in wash water and lathering them with soap. She wrung them out. _Although I could probably figure out some other underhanded deed to do. _ Cheered by the mental image of MEKESSG's neck beneath her wringing fingers, the girl sang under her breath. The tune was an old favorite, but the words were all her own.

"Prima donna, great strumpet of the age, your enemies are on their knees to disembowel you. Can you escape when they all know your name? Think of how they all despise you. Prima donna, depart from us once again. Think of the throng and how they long to depose you! Can you deny us the bloodshed in store? Die, prima donna, once more."

Her clothes relatively clean, Ailin hung them up to dry on the clothesline. Everyone else would be awake soon, and she had promised to help Cook make breakfast in exchange for some heroic ballads and a day off next weekend.

The day was as unremarkable as the rest of the week had been, but the girl's secret escapade of the night before made everything seem more exciting. Her world was tinged with the mysterious and dangerous; every breath felt chancy. No one could know that beneath Ailin, the competent barmaid in love with old songs, lurked Candorien Farlithe, annoyance of kings. For now, Ailin had free rein, but Candorien occasionally raised her head to make some wry comment.

"Good afternoon, Lia!" Ailin said companionably when her fellow barmaid entered the Red Arrow at a quarter to three. "Did you have a good evening?" she asked innocently on her way to a table of countrywomen come in to Minas Tirith for a long day's shopping. "Here you are, ma'am. Would you like some tea or scones to go with that?"

"Tea," the thin goodwife answered shortly, peering down her hooked nose at the young girl.

"And some scones," giggled one of her larger companions, a plump woman with an infectious smile. " Half a dozen, perhaps?"

"I'll be right back." Ailin hustled off to fetch the requested beverage and biscuits.

"Where did you run off to last night?" Lia wondered, quite amiable now that male attention was no longer in the picture. "Rhea never got to give you the last of your tip money. Anyhow, she's off tonight, so it's just the two of us."

_Joy_, thought the other girl in her snarkiest inner voice.

"Oh," she said aloud, pouring a few cups of tea and placing them gingerly on her tray. "Pass me those scones."

Lia handed her a plate laden with dainty sugared scones. Glide-stepping carefully so as no to spill the tea, Ailin returned to the goodwives with their refreshments.

Afternoon quickly turned to night in the busy tavern. Full of light a laughter, the Red Arrow drew even more customers after the sun went down. Ailin and Lia never got a moment's rest. As soon as one group placed their order, someone else needed refills. When they received more ale, it was time to hurriedly scrub a third table so the new patrons could sit down. Eventually the insanity died down, but it was still fairly busy when six teenage boys came in.

"Ailin, get them, please. I'm swamped," Lia begged. She had her hands full and made such a pitiful picture of frazzled perfection that Ailin could by no means deny her.

"What can I do for you, boys?" she asked, her flirting face firmly in place.

"Drinks all around – ale if you please, miss," said the leader of the group definitively. His friends murmured in agreement, except for one.

Tristan watched the new barmaid with eagle eyes. His table stayed throughout the rest of the evening until they were once again the only group there. After his friends left, Tristan lingered, waiting for the maid to approach his nearly empty table once again. When she showed no signs of doing so, he acted.

"My lady!" She ignored him. "My lady Candorien!"

The girl whirled, eyes fearful. "What did you call me?"

"Candorien. You may have changed your hair, raiment, and bearing, but I know that face. You are the girl from the citadel. The one who got into such trouble and was banished from Minas Tirith. Come give us a kiss, then."

Candorien gave him a look of superb disdain. "You are drunk."

The young man's faced turned ugly at her rejection, although he was indeed plastered. "Such a disgraceful young woman should not be allowed to roam the city by her lonesome. I think Lord Faramir will be very pleased to have news of you."

* * *

**Author's Note: I apologize for the long time this chapter took. I should have another chapter out by next weekend? Hopefully. And then at least one update the week after that. This story is winding down... And I have a question for you guys. I am seriously considering doing either a Bones or Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfiction, perhaps a LotR crossover with them, and perhaps bringing either Carson or Merry into another fandom. Do you have any thoughts on that?**

**Ever yours,**

**AiH**


	33. Apology Accepted

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Rings-related except some movies, books, a poster, and a cheap Evenstar necklace. Sadness.**

* * *

White with panic, Candorien fled the drunken young man. She rushed past Lia into the kitchen. Her few things were stored in a light canvas bag by the back door. Pausing only long enough to pull pants on beneath her skirt and then wriggle out of said skirt, the girl ran from the tavern. She halted two blocks away to extract a black, weather-beaten cloak and wrap it about her shoulders. If that drunken sod knew her identity, then soon others would know it as well. Spitting out expletives in Old English, Candorien sprinted through the night.

_Hasufel. I've got to get to Hasufel,_ she thought desperately. No respectable shop was open at this time of night. It would have to be a spur of the moment escape without tack or weapons. She had no idea where to go or how to get there. She was certainly overreacting. The best course would probably have been to stay at the tavern and bluff her way through Tristan's accusations, but she was far too shaken to act rationally. She could have gone to the _Dutchman_ and asked Norrington for help, but that idea never entered her head. One thought repeated itself in her mind. Hasufel meant safety. Hasufel meant home. To Hasufel she must go.

Back through the dark streets of the night before she ran, bag thumping against her back. Candorien climbed up and over the wall and wandered through the horse herd, calling softly to her gelding.

"Hasufel. Hasufel. Hasufel, where are you?"

None of the horses in the paddock was hers. Terrified, Carson ducked in to the stable and went from stall to stall. She looked at every silhouette, desperate for a familiar shadow.

"Hasufel!" the girl screamed in a whisper. "Hasufel!"

Had someone taken her horse? Was Hasufel gone? Had he been sold? Would she ever find him again?

At last a nicker sounded behind her. She whirled, heart pounding. She would know that sound anywhere. Her gelding stood in the doorway of the stable, accompanied by a slender figure. Moonlight glinted of the figure's hair. The two faced each other until finally the creature spoke.

"Candorien," it said in a voice heavy with sadness. "I wondered how long it would be until you came here. Somehow I knew we would meet tonight."

Candorien froze, stricken. "Legolas?" Horror welled up in her stomach. She wanted to hurl. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you." The figure stepped back. His face was completely blank, a hard, pale mask.

"I'm flattered." But what was he really doing? If he hated her half as much as she hated herself for what EVALPIG had done to him while in her body, then he should be cursing her, not seeking her out. "Legolas, I'm sorry."

"I know." It was abrupt and by no means an absolution.

"I don't think you do. How can you have any idea of my self-loathing? I don't think I can ever forgive myself for what happened."

"If you remember, as I do, a time when I, too, lost control of myself, you would not be so adamant." The elf spoke carefully, the planes of his ageless face slowly relaxing. "I tried to kill you. You tried – violently, I might add – to make me fall in love with you. By my count, that makes us, finally, even."

Incredulous joy lit up Carson's face. Wildly happy, the girl stared at him for long seconds. "You mean…"

"Mortals' lives are so short. Why harbor resentment and grudges? I bear you no ill will, Candorien. Let us be friends."

Hesitantly, Candorien took a step towards him and then another. Then she bolted. Legolas braced himself for the impact, but instead she tackled Hasufel. Throwing her arms around the gray, the girl babbled meaninglessly about how worried she had been.

"I see you have your priorities," Legolas commented, not unkindly.

"Horses before people. Always," Carson mumbled, finally letting go of the horse in question.

"So it would appear."

"But then the elf gets a hug…if he wants one, that is," the girl added uncertainly.

"Go ahead." Still she watched him nervously. "Tithen orc, there is no need to look afraid. I am not going to stab you."

Candorien accepted this statement and hugged the elf tentatively. She let go very quickly as if contact might burn her.

"I really do forgive you, Candorien," Legolas assured her emphatically. "Now, if you don't mind, what terrible troubles have you been up to since last I saw you? The real you, I mean."

"It's a long, humiliating story. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"The more humiliating, the better," chuckled the elf. He murmured softly in Sindarin to Hasufel. The tall horse wandered off to fill his large stomach. "Come; let us talk in the moonlight." He led the way out into the paddock and seated himself, cross-legged in a patch of clover. Candorien followed slowly and plopped down across from the elf with considerably less grace.

It was with great reluctance that she began her tale, fully aware of how foolish and stupid and immature it made her seem. The fact that it was all true only made it worse. She was not going to edit the truth to make herself look better. That was not her way. And of course, Legolas would see through any lie she concocted in ten seconds flat.

The girl twisted her fingers in her lap. Oh, it was a wretched narrative! She stared down at her writhing digits, unable to look up and meet the disapproval, disgust, or worst of all, disappointment she knew must be moving across her listener's face.

"And so that's how I ended up at the Red Arrow," she finished at long last, still looking at her lap. "I've been there five days now – if I don't get fired fro running when that Tristan bloke threatened to rat me out. My name is Ailin at the inn, in case you ever decided to just randomly show up there. For all our custom, we don't get too many elves."

"That is because there are not many elves in the White City, Candorien. Few of us travel far from our homes these days, save those setting out on the Long Journey, from which there is no return."

"You sound wistful."

"I am," Legolas admitted. "You long for acceptance and love – quite a reasonable desire for one of your kind. I long to return home. You see, I cal lit home, and I speak of returning, even though I have never been there. Tol Erresea. Elven home. The land of my people for ever." He gazed out in to the night at something only his elvish eyes could see. Finally shaking himself out of the reverie, Legolas sighed, green eyes full of sadness. "It is not my time to leave. Not yet, but soon."

"The world would be a darker place without the fair elves in it."

"There are many fair and beautiful things in this world, Candorien, and they do not depend on the elves for survival."

"But everything seems fairer with the elves. Without you, I fear much would grow dim and be forgotten."

The elf shrugged, lifting his thin shoulders in a gesture of ignorance. "No one knows what path the river of time will take until it has run its course."

"Not even the Valar?"

"Not even the Valar. Now, before we were swept off on this deep tangent, you were telling me of your adventures." He deliberately chose a nice word. "Frankly, Candorien, the thought of you as a barmaid is one that will take some getting used to. Aragorn would have a stroke if he knew. I am not certain that you should continue with this endeavor."

Candorien shot him a baleful glare. "Just because you say you've forgiven me does not mean that anyone else has. Aragorn practically kicked me out of Middle-earth. I have no desire to go running back, begging for his pardon."

"I could explain things. I am sure Estel would understand."

"I'm not," the teenager said dourly. "Sorry, Legolas, but it really hurt my feelings when he told me to go home and never come back. And not just ego-pain here. I wanted to cry. I felt all broken inside – I still feel broken inside. So if it's all right with you, Master Elf, I would rather not go crawling back on my hands and knees to him just yet."

"I understand. If that is your wish, then of course I will keep your secret. No one shall know of your presence here from me."

"Thank you." Her gratitude was heartfelt.

Legolas nodded but said nothing more. He watched her in the moonlight, keen bright eyes taking in every detail of her appearance. Yes, the little rascal was going through ha hard time at the moment, but she had determined to endure it, and there was little he could do. The elf rose suddenly, the movement as graceful as when he sat. He extended a hand to the teenage girl and pulled her to her feet.

"Come along, Candorien. We are going for a walk."

* * *

Carson stumbled into the Red Arrow's kitchen shortly before dawn. While she had walked with Legolas, the dark night sky had gradually turned from black to charcoal. Now it was pale gray like a homing pigeon's underbelly. Finding a small spot of unoccupied floor, she curled up into a ball. Morning was almost here, and she needed all the sleep she could get.

The day was as boring and frustrating as the day before. It was difficult to squash her feelings and hide behind a mask of vapid flirtatious goodwill. Yesterday Ailin had been in control, Candorien buried beneath hordes of logic and reasoning and adamant commandments. Today, Candorien threatened full-fledged rebellion. On the outside, the girl was a well-mannered, efficient waitress. Inside, however, she ached for the feeling of a sword in her hand and bare earth under her feet. Caught between lives, torn by indecision, Carson could barely keep her head.

After retiring early that morning, she had gone straight to Norrington to explain the unexpected new developments. At first the Commodore had frowned, eyes darkening until Carson gulped apprehensively.

"How could you let this happen?" he demanded angrily.

Spluttering, the teenager cast about for an explanation, but Norrington stopped her before she had time to say more than "Fish sticks tree sloth Iphigenia Gorbachev."

"My apologies, McArthur. The disguise is not as good as we could have wished, and who knows? This may yet turn to our good. Go back and act as if nothing has changed."

_As if nothing has changed? Really, James_ thought the girl disparagingly, hoisting a heavy tray of roast beef above her head to keep from running into customers. _Our aims – mine, really – seem almost half-met. Legolas forgave me; we are friends again. I'm not quite sure what could upset this apple cart._

But then she remembered MEKESSG and shuddered. Thankfully no one noticed the wobbling meat. Reminded of what could – and most likely would –go wrong, Carson threw herself into work. It would not do to jinx herself just as things began to go right. She worked all through the evening and night, focusing solely on refills, orders, and cleaning. A half hour before closing, her concentration was disturbed.

The elf entered the tavern, clad in a merry mixture of green and brown and blue. Alone, he seated himself at one of the prominent tables and waited, impassive, to be served.

"Oh, Lia, an elf!" murmured Rhea in barely controlled excitement.

Lia looked at the elf admiringly. "Oh, my. Elves really _are_ handsome."

Before she could sashay over to him, however, Ailin blurted, "I'll get it!" and off she went.

"Beer, Ale, Rum, or Wine?" the waitress asked cheerily. She added a perfunctory "my lord," teeth gritted in a _very_ fake smile. Then in a softer voice, "What are you doing here?"

"Wine, please. The best you have, maid – if it's worth drinking." Green eyes winking, Legolas smiled sweetly up at her. Carson wanted to stab him. Lowering his voice, he replied, "I got bored, and Gimli's out for the night."

"Very good, sir. What, asleep already? Anything else, sir?"

"No, wine will be sufficient. Thank you… Passed out, actually." The elf's smile turned into an evil, self-satisfied grin. "We had a little drinking contest… he lost."

"So you drank him under the table, then left him stone-cold drunk, and now you show up here to drink even _more_ alcohol. Are you insane?... Right away, my lord."

The girl stalked off and returned quickly with a single glass of wine before Legolas could attract too much attention.

"Here you are, my lord." She discreetly kicked him under the table.

"Careful now; you won't get a tip." Legolas sipped daintily at his wine, a merry evil glint in his eye.

"I hate you," Carson hissed too low for anyone else to hear.

"I can't believe you're serving that elf!" moaned Lia enviously when Ailin got back to the bar from visiting her other tables.

"Who is he?" Ailin knew Legolas could hear them. She wanted to shake up his smugness a bit.

"Only the Lord Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood – that great nasty dark forest away yonder – and dear friend of the King Elessar, one of the heroes of the War of the Ring, one of the Nine Companions, in fact. How can you not know who he is?" Lia practically shrieked.

"Oh, I never pay attention to celebrity matters."

Ten yards away, Legolas choked on his wine and devolved into a coughing fit.

"Oh, sir, are you all right?" Ailin ran to his side. She appeared to pat him on the back gently, but really she was thumping him as hard as she could. _Whack!_

"Thank you." The elf fended her off, raising his arm and shoving her away.

"Serves you right for eavesdropping."

"More wine, please," he spoke over her loudly.

Voice dripping with fake sweetness, Ailin replied, "Immediately, sir," and trod heavily on his toes before leaving.

She endured his sarcastic asides and smarmy smirk for thirsty minutes. While she pretended to be annoyed, really Carson was thrilled to have her friend and their banter back. Matching wits with Legolas – trying to, at least – was refreshing. It kept her mind off the silliness of her job. Soon it was time to close, and Legolas wandered out aimlessly. Carson cleaned like a girl possessed; she needed to get to Hasufel.

"Going to meet a boy?" Lia teased good-humoredly. Tips had been good that evening.

"'Tristan _has _been asking about her," said Rhea in a dancing tone.

Carson flushed, her worries suddenly springing back to life, vivid and violent. "I don't really know Tristan," she admitted, to get the girls off her case. "I'm just supposed to meet an old friend who's in town fore a while. It's nothing like what you're thinking." The fact that her friend was equine, not human, was an unnecessary detail.

"Sure you're not." Lia did not believe her. 'I bet you have lots of male admirers in this city. _I_ do."

Ailin noticed that Rhea was watching her carefully. The older girl seemed to be looking for an ally, a fellow commiserator in the face of her best friend's male magnetism. Carson felt bad for Rhea. Living in Lia's shadow could not be fun.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Lee, but there's no one."

And setting her broom against the wall, Carson ran back to her clothes bundle and quickly changed into trousers. She slipped past her friends out into the darkness. The girl walked quickly down the street, arms wrapped around herself.

An elven figure stepped out from a shadowy doorway. "Finally," it drawled lazily. "I've been waiting forever."

* * *

**Author's Note: Bon appetit, mellyn nin!**


	34. Planks

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. I did own three Oreos.... I ate them.**

* * *

"No, no, you're doing that completely wrong. Extend your back leg. More, more. Ah, that's it. Now hold that." Norrington stepped back, pleased with his handiwork.

"I think I'm going to fall," Carson worried, clenching her rear and stomach muscles in an effort to keep upright. This was worse than marching backwards with a six-to-five step at an Andante tempo. Much, much worse.

"If you have decent abdominals, you should be able to stay up. Doesn't your fencing teacher have you do planks?" asked the man languidly as the girl trembled with the effort of maintaining the lunge position.

"We run a lot," she choked out. "I do chin-ups on my very good days."

"From now on, you do planks."

His authoritative tone bothered Carson. "Yes, _sir_. I feel like I'm some kind of Slayer, and you're my Watcher."

"What kind of inane psycho drivel are you spouting now?" No one did disdain as well as Norrington except, perhaps, Snape. As Carson had never met Snape, she really couldn't comment.

"Didn't you ever see _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_? Oh, that's right. You live in let's-blow-everyone-up-with-cannons-and-then-be-quixotically-bloody-noble land, don't you? No television for the lordly James Norrington."

James poked her in the shoulder with his index finger. The girl toppled over and hit the deck with a thud.

"Plank. Now."

"Llama llama gaggle beef."

"Here, I'll show you." Norrington dropped down. He balanced on his elbows and toes, keeping the rest of his body six inches from the floor. "Come on, McArthur. Knees off the ground."

Groaning, Carson copied his position. Her upper arms and belly ached. "How long are we doing this, James?"

"Three minutes."

Knees shaking, the girl muttered, "I hate you."

"If that's what it takes for you to learn discipline… Rear end down, McArthur. Stop cheating."

Carson grumbled, tightening her abs. She could feel her shoulders trembling as she held her body up. "Valar, I am fat."

The former Commodore ignored her. "Forty-five seconds… sixty seconds… seventy-five seconds… ninety seconds."

"Urgh. So, to distract me from my pain, how was your day?"

"Six drunken sailors, a prostitute, a little drowned boy – seven years old. Seven! – and a midshipman from the Spanish Navy."

"Do people cry when they realize they're dead? I mean, I would hate to be dead. And wouldn't it hurt to know that you had left all your family and friends behind forever? And how much they missed you and loved you?"

"Two minutes." He paused, considering her questions. "Sometimes people are upset. Sometimes they are relived. And often, often they are scared – scared of the unknown, scared to move on, scared of these grim men who look like pirates…"

"And used to be pirates…" the girl interjected.

"Indeed. Three minutes." Norrington lowered himself slowly to the ground.

Carson collapsed onto the deck. "Ahhh… This floor feels niiiice. I'm going to take a nap now."

He rolled onto one side and watched her, a look of superior amusement on his face. The amusement slowly faded as he thought. "Sometimes," he said quietly, so quietly that Carson lifted her head to hear him more clearly. "Sometimes I wish we had a woman aboard ship to comfort the little ones and the men who miss their mothers."

"What about Elizabeth? Couldn't she join the ship if she wanted to?"

James shook his head. "Not until she's dying. The Captain wants her to live a long, healthy, happy life with their children."

Carson nearly puked at that last word. "Eurgh. So one depressing as heck ship for the already dead and depressed. You need someone to cheer this place up."

"Are you volunteering?"

"Well, since the only thing I could play on a pipe organ would be 'Pop Goes the Weasel', no."

"I am grateful for that. Come on, McArthur. It's time for you to do another plank."

* * *

Somehow, it was Saturday again. This time, however, Carson had the day off. After a week of hiding from Tristan by day and exploring Minas Tirith with Legolas by night, the girl was more than ready for a new, exciting adventure. She needed something fun. Luckily for her thrill-seeking side, Legolas had promised her a surprise.

"There you are!" the elf called with a huge grin as Carson finally stepped out of the Red Arrow. "You mortals take forever to change clothes."

Glowering in pretended annoyance, Carson quipped, "Oh, aye, indeed we do, Master Elf, but I am sure you would rather wait an extra twenty minutes than spend your day with a smelly, sweaty mortal."

Legolas pondered this for a moment. "You are quite welcome to all the extra time you need."

She simpered, "Thank you, dear Prince. You are ever so courteous."

To change the subject, Legolas said quickly, "So how long do you have... er… off?"

"All day," Carson replied happily, glad to be free from the heat and hullaballoo of the tavern. "And I got paid this morning, so I have money."

"What do you plan on doing with these newfound riches?" he teased.

"I honestly haven't the slightest idea. I get food at work; no one will sell me Hasufel.... hmm… Do I need new clothes?" she asked herself.

"You seem to have enough of those as it is," the elf reproved mildly.

The girl gave her clothes a once-over. She was wearing a dark blue tunic with matching leggings, a short russet cloak, and muddy leather boots. "Perhaps you're right."

"It has been known to happen."

The two friends walked easily together. Tall and fair, clad in evergreen, Legolas seemed out of place in the cacophony and chaos of the human city. Shorter, darker, and slightly thicker, Carson forced herself to move casually. She felt vulnerable in the daylight, open to attack. Everyone could see her. Anyone could recognize her and run of to tell Faramir. Carson mentally shivered. She wasn't sure she liked Faramir much.

"So where is everyone else today?" she wondered, desperate to strike out names on her who-to-worry-about list.

"Faramir and Eowyn have come in from Emyn Arnen. I believe Elladan and Elrohir have delayed their departure yet again – something about Elrond having taken the finest cook in Rivendell with him to the Havens."

"Someone's developed a hobbit's taste for food."

Legolas laughed. "They blame Bilbo. Apparently he taught them all how to truly appreciate food."

Carson snorted at the mental image forming in her head. "I bet he did. Tell me, Legolas. Are they all developing huge pot bellies?"

"Pot-bellied elves? Scandalous!" When their laughter stopped, he added, "But you can see that for yourself."

"Oh?"

"That's where we're going today. The citadel. Did I not tell you?"

"No," the girl growled through gritted teeth. "You neglected to mention that little fact."

The elf shrugged lightly. "My apologies."

Apologies? How could he just say "my apologies" and think that let him off the hook? Carson's palms and pits were sweating. Her heart raced. Galump. Galump. Galump. Her knees shook so hard she could barely walk.

_So much for a shower._

Perhaps Legolas heard her pounding heart with his elf ears for he slung a casual arm about the girl's shoulders. "Don't worry, Candorien. They are all very excited to see you."

_They? All? Oh dearie dearie dear. Excited? More like ready to kill me. Don't worry? HA. Fat chance of that._

"Legs, I am going to _kill_ you."

Legolas hastily withdrew his arm. "Relax. There's no need to look so … feral. And please refrain from calling me 'Legs'."

Feral was an understatement. Frazzled and frustrated were understatements. Demented came close.

"If I get out of there alive, I am going to force you to run the gauntlet. Then I will keelhaul you off the coast of Antarctica. And finally, I will string you up from the nearest yardarm and watch you _swing_," Carson snarled, baring her teeth ferociously.

"And you wonder why you aren't considered fit for public display? Come on, implet. It is not going to be that bad."

Carson shot him a furious glare but consented. She forced her legs to move, to march in step with the elf beside her. Only a traditional eight-to-five could carry her forward now. They slowly meandered up towards the citadel. Legolas wanted to be quicker, but his teenage companion kept dragging her feet. She would walk half a block then turn and attempt to run away. The elf chased after her, catching her easily. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her back along the street.

"Lemme go! Please, Legs, let me go!" All her good resolutions aside, Candorien simply could not do this. She couldn't walk to face her death. She was not that brave today.

"Please stop making a scene," the elf begged.

"No," she moaned and threw up on the cobblestone street.

"All right, that's enough." He picked the girl up and tossed her over one shoulder. "You are coming with me whether you like it or not."

Hot tears poured from Carson's eyes and seeped through his tunic. Sniffling, she bawled silently into the elf's shoulder blade. Scared and miserable, she cried and cried until Legolas's shirt was thoroughly soaked. He finally set her down outside the gate to the seventh circle of the city.

"Candorien, you are braver than this. Why are you so afraid?"

Tears expended, Carson stared up at him, her nose red and running. "I can't face it. They're going to reject me, and I just can't face that."

"You can. Look at me." Green eyes held watery gray ones. "You _are_ brave. You _are_ courageous. You have fought orcs and Haradrim. You have stood up to those about to kill you. You have ridden the Paths of the Dead. After all that, why in the name of Elbereth do other people's opinions matter to you?"

Carson froze, paralyzed by his words.

"Let's go." Legolas shook her shoulder gently. "Back straight, stand tall. Confidence is key. You can do this." He tugged her into an upright position. "Here. Wipe your eyes on my sleeve – it's about the only thing you _haven't_ cried on. Now, my lady Candorien," the elf flashed her a dazzling smile, all grace and elegance once more. "Will you do me the honor of accompanying me to visit the King?"

_Oh, D'Arvit. _But Carson grinned back, tossing her head to clear her sinuses. "I would be delighted to, Prince Legolas," she replied lightly and accepted his proffered arm.

Panic threatened to resurface with every step the girl took, but she held herself together. Full of iron determination, she _would_ do this thing. It could not be as bad as she expected. _Good thing I wore waterproof mascara today_, she thought wryly.

Now they were at the doors of the citadel. Legolas paused to murmur something to the guard, who stood ramrod straight and opened the doors for them. Humming the "Suffocation" song under her breath, Carson followed the elf inside.

"Where is everyone?" she asked as they walked briskly through the empty ebony and ivory halls. The citadel was ridiculously quiet. Not even the clang and clatter of pots in the kitchen or the pitter-patter of softly clad servant feet could be heard. Legolas and Carson seemed to be the only people in a deserted building. She found herself wondering if some giant "Gotcha!" prank was in order. Knowing her erstwhile friends, the idea was plausible enough.

"Waiting for us in Aragorn's study," replied the wood elf.

"Even the servants?" Carson asked skeptically.

He looked confused. "Why would the servants be included?"

Hastily, the girl added, "Never mind… It was just a thought."

"Candorien, you have some strange thoughts."

_Ain't that the truth._

They had reached Aragorn's study. Carson halted outside the door and tried to take a steadying breath, but Legolas had other plans. Smirking, he opened the door and shoved the teenager inside.

Carson half fell into the room. Somehow recovering her balance, she stared blankly at the study's many occupants, the majority of whom returned her blank stare.

Legolas stepped in behind her, shutting the door with a neat click. "Well, mellyn," he said cheerfully, still smirking, "look what I found roaming the streets of this fair city."

Elrohir was the first to recover from his shock. "An urchin?" His gray eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Nay, gwador, not an urchin," Elladan chimed in with a glance at the petrified girl. "A flower-seller, perhaps?"

"Maybe a refugee from Harad," suggested Gimli, getting into the game.

"Refugees are not half so scruffy, Master Dwarf," Eowyn remarked thoughtfully.

"My wife speaks truly, although in Gimli's defense, the creature is dark enough to come from the far South." Faramir showed no signs of his former animosity towards the girl.

Shell-shocked, Carson stood there, looking from one teasing face to the next. Three of the faces weren't so teasing, however. Aragorn sat back behind his desk, his handsome features a stern mask. Arwen gazed at the teenager, dark eyes full of sorrow and disappointment.

"Oh, Candorien," Elrond's daughter sighed.

Carson flushed. Stomach churning, she found her voice. "Arwen, Aragorn, everyone, I'm sorry. I messed up. I made a thousand mistakes. I know I really screwed things up. And I am very, very sorry. Please forgive me?"

The King's face softened infinitesimally. Blinking hard, Arwen looked off to the side. The third unhappy face, pale beneath its cloud of dark hair, nodded.

"If Candorien says she is sorry, that's good enough for me," croaked Char.

"Good." Legolas took Carson's shaking hand and squeezed it gently. "I was hoping you all would hurry up and get this forgiving business over with because…" He paused to make sure he had everyone's attention. "Because Candorien and I are engaged to be married."

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**Author's Note: As always, reviews are appreciated. Be seeing you next week with the next chapter!**

**AiH**


	35. Payback

**Disclaimer: I own very few things, and I shall own fewer by the end of this chapter.**

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The room burst into chaos. Everyone talked over each other, unable to believe they had heard correctly. Carson's jaw dropped open, and she felt very much as if she had just been pole-axed. She snatched her hand free from the elf's grasp and mouthed wordlessly at him.

Finally gaining her voice back, she demanded, "What are you talking about? Legolas, I wouldn't marry you if it was a choice between you and a giant slug! No offense, of course."

"Yes, you will," the elf said dangerously. He did not look quite sane. "You will because I love you, Candorien." He struggled to get the words out. "I love you, and I always will."

Dazed, Carson tried to back away from that sucker-punch to the gut, but Legolas held her hand so tightly she couldn't. As she gabbled for speech to deal with this incredibly awkward revelation, things _really_ went loopy.

A cloud of glittering pink smoke that reeked of perfume appeared in the center of the study, sending everyone into a coughing fit. The cloud dissipated slowly to reveal two slender, beautiful girls. Carson screamed and climbed the nearest person that wasn't Legolas. Faramir objected to having a seventeen-year-old perched on his shoulders, but all attempts to peel her off proved futile.

"Hello, Legolas," purred the taller, older of the girls. "It's been a while."

Legolas turned green but seemed strangely triumphant. "Indeed it has, Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow."

"Leggie! What do you _mean_, engaged to that slimy wench?" squealed the other girl, emerald eyes blazing angrily.

"What do _you_ mean, slimy wench?" bellowed Carson, digging her nails into Faramir's ears. The Steward yelped and danced about in an effort to rid himself of the blasted creature. Candorien clung on. An experienced bareback rider, she had kept her seat with wilder steeds.

"Candorien, get off! Help!"

No one came to his aid. The rest of the group, elves, dwarf, and humans, watched Legolas, Candorien, and the intruders carefully as if waiting for some secret sign or signal. Ignoring her perch's shout, Carson continued her diatribe.

"Poxy smutty cur! You diseased spawn of Morgoth! You have fewer morals than Hitler! How _dare _you call me a slimy wench? I bathe daily!"

"Leggie-love!" EVALPIG sidled up to the elf, who became increasingly pale with every step she took. "Why would you want to marry _her_ when you could have _me_ any time you wanted?"

Nearly the color of skim milk, the elf inched away from her. "Because," he said delicately, "she bathes. And she isn't diseased. And she isn't chasing me desperately like a hound in heat."

"He has a point," drawled MEKESSG. She appeared bored, but Carson knew better than to believe it. "Elemenestra, dearest, it wouldn't kill you to be a bit more…ah…choosy."

The younger girl glared at her older sister. "Mary, stay out of this. I'm in charge."

"Not really. I had Legolas willingly; you just attempted to rape him."

Legolas went even paler at the phrase "had Legolas willingly". Candorien ground her teeth. Faramir shuddered.

"You witch," Legolas hissed, seething. "You never had me willingly."

"Oh, really?" MEKESSG gazed at the elf, and something in her demeanor changed. "Legolas, don't you remember me?"

"Mary Elizabeth?" He sounded confused. "Where have you been? What's going on? Who is _that_?" This last while looking at EVALPIG.

"Shhh. It's okay, love. It'll all be okay."

The elf rushed into her arms and laid his head against her chest while MEKESSG began to sing a sappy love ballad.

"Oh, no, you don't!" bellowed Carson. Leapfrogging down from Faramir's shoulders, she seized his sword. Furious, the girl grabbed Legolas by the collar and threw him bodily across the room. The wood elf slammed into his cousin, and they both fell to the floor.

"Leggie, no!" EVALPIG cried. MEKESSG just stared, shocked. EVALPIG sprinted to "Leggie"'s side. "Darling, get up!" She grabbed his arm and attempted to yank the elf to his feet.

"Enough!" Sword in hand, Carson crossed the room. "Leave. Him. Alone." She kicked the irritating girl aside. "You leave him the bloody hell alone. He gets to make his own choices, and he obviously hasn't chosen you, so get out of here!"

EVALPIG screamed and ran at Carson, intent on starting a catfight. She was so focused on her target that she failed to notice the foot and a half of gleaming steel said target held. Until the steel was sticking out of her spine. Then she noticed. EVALPIG shrieked as Carson calmly pulled out her sword.

"Oops. You really should look where you're going." And just as calmly, she lifted her blade and with a sweeping motion sliced off EVALPIG's head. The head bounced to the ground, splattering blood everywhere as the headless body hit the wood floor with a loud, sickening thud. Dropping the sword, Carson sat down, put her head in her hands, and cried.

Everyone gaped at the weeping girl and the headless body – everyone except Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow, that is. MEKESSG just smirked, drumming her perfectly manicure magenta talons on her hip. "I love you, Candy."

Candorien looked up from her tears to shoot MEKESSG a scorching glare.

"I don't know why it bothers you, darling," the other continued, her slinky silk dress hugging her every curve as she walked over to place a hand on Carson's shoulder. "It's just death… Erik kills us… Faramir kills us… James kills us. Even your dear Mr. Turner kills us. Why does killing upset you so?"

Aragorn and Faramir watched Carson closely, curious to see what her reaction would be.

"Because life is precious. Even if I hate the one whose life it is. And he is _not_ my Mr. Turner."

"Oh, stop being such a downer." MEKESSG rubbed the younger girl's shoulder gently. "Why not focus on the good things?"

"Like me!" said a bubbly voice. All eyes turned to stare at the disembodied head, which blinked right back at them, vivid green eyes twinkling. The decapitated body stood up, retrieved its head, and planted it firmly on its shoulders once more. "Miss me?" cackled EVALPIG.

Èowyn turned white. Elladan ground his fists into his eyes, expecting the bloody, newly alive girl to disappear. She didn't. His brother swallowed forcefully. Reaching for her husband's hand, Arwen retreated behind the desk. The King himself merely raised an eyebrow.

"Not quite what I had in mind," commented MEKESSG as Gimli's hands shook on the haft of his axe. Berenglorion and Legolas glanced at the perfect girls then dived in synchronized motion beneath two beaten-up armchairs.

"I killed you," Carson said slowly, looking back and forth between EVALPIG and Faramir's gory sword. "I killed you… you were dead."

"Things change. You can't get rid of me that easily."

"More's the pity," grumbled her sister. "Honestly, Elemenestra, I think I like you better dead."

"I do," mumbled a shaking Legolas from under his armchair.

Elemenestra Victory Anariel Lucy Phillipa Isabel Greenhow laughed this off. "Whatever. None of you have any power over me. I don't even need that stupid girl's body now. I can make Legolas love me all on my own."

"Good luck with that." Now that she knew she hadn't killed anyone, Carson was regaining her spunk. Innocently, she picked up Faramir's weapon and wiped the blade on her cloak.

"Elemenestra, dear, you have tried and failed to seduce Legolas Greenleaf." All the elves winced at this terrible surname. "By the rules of our Sisterhood, you must abandon the attempt for a year and a day. And since you failed," MEKESSG's smugness was becoming hard to bear, "I am once again Queen of the Sisterhood."

"Pardon me, ladies," Faramir smiled ingratiatingly, "but what Sisterhood is this exactly?"

Before her sister could stop her, EVALPIG blurted out, "Why, the High Exalted Sisterhood of the Order of Mary-Sues, of course!"

MEKESSG was appalled at her foolishness. "Elemenestra! How dare you! Be quiet this instant!"

"Oh, no… Elemenestra, is it?" Faramir walked over to the younger Mary-Sue, all sincere interest and skillful flattery. "You are so beautiful." EVALPIG preened under the unexpected male attention. "What does your Sisterhood do, exquisite girl?"

"Elemenestra, no!" MEKESSG tried to stop her sister from speaking, but Gimli and his large axe boxed her into a corner. "Don't say anything else!"

"That's quite enough out of you, lassie." The Dwarf cheerfully hit her over the head with his axe. Unconscious, the 'Sue collapsed to the floor. "Ah," Gimli sighed, grinning proudly at his handiwork. "I've been wanting to do that for a _very_ long time."

"Oh, you breathtaking creature. Please, tell me more of your Sisterhood." Faramir kissed EVALPIG's hand with the grace of a well-practiced courtier. His wife twitched.

"We-ell… if you really want to know…"

"Oh, I do, meleth nin."

Èowyn choked. She wasn't the only one feeling nauseated.

"All right, then," giggled the flattered girl. "Our Sisterhood exists to glorify beautiful women – by making all handsome men fall desperately, hopelessly, slavishly in love with them. I sought that young elf yonder," she gestured at one of the armchairs, "in the guise of the slob Candorien. I wanted to follow in Mary Elizabeth's footsteps. And I almost succeeded," she added with a pout. "If only that _trull_ hadn't ruined things."

"I see," said the Steward politely. "What an enlightening tale." He backed away, as if afraid of further contact.

EVALPIG couldn't take a hint. She stepped towards him. "But I don't need him now," she giggled conspiratorially. "I have you."

Wide-eyed, Faramir retreated to the opposite wall. EVALPIG followed. "Er, Miss, I fear you have mistaken my intentions."

"Oh, I think she read them quite clearly," observed his wife, her bright eyes dancing.

"But handsome sir, you must love me as much as I love you." The girl had practically thrown herself on him. "You are so strong, and I am so beautiful. We were meant for each other." Her hands moved across his chest and shoulders to caress the dark stubble on Faramir's chin. "Kiss me," she demanded, going up on tiptoe.

Whimpers emanated from under the armchairs. Èowyn's eyes became the size of saucers. She muttered angrily to herself, but some external force appeared to restrain her from physical action.

"Help! Help!" Faramir's hands went for his sword, but Carson had taken it. "Candorien! Help me!" His plea was cut off as EVALPIG covered his mouth with hers. The man squirmed, struggling to free himself, but the girl was stronger than she appeared.

Carson glanced away from her sword-polishing long enough to snort with laughter. "Payback's a witch." As EVALPIG continued mauling the man, however, she found some pity. "What do you suggest, son of Denethor? Beheading and impalement don't work. You have any other ideas?"

"Aragorn!" gasped his Steward as soon as he was allowed to surface for air. "Please!"

"Arwen, dear," said the King, sounding slightly disturbed. "What do the books of lore say about the handling of Sues?"

"Burn them at the stake?"

"No, Elrohir, burning is for witches," admonished his twin.

"We could always get a duck and compare their weights," Carson suggested. "Who knows? They may be witches."

"None of you are named Arwen, and all of you are exceptionally silly," observed the Queen regally. "Aragorn, I do not see the point of books of lore when simple common sense will suffice." She picked up a pitcher of cold water from the desk and calmly dumped it on EVALPIG's head. The girl screamed and leapt away from Faramir.

"I'm melting! I'm melting!" shrieked EVALPIG. Jumping up and down, she attempted to fling the water off her pale, sculpted arms and brilliantly red hair. With each jump, however, she grew smaller and smaller. Her head came up to Faramir's chin, then his shoulders. "What did you do to me?" The ear-piercing screech made everyone wince. EVALPIG was roughly hobbit-height now. She kept dancing about, yammering and shouting, until she was two feet tall… eighteen inches… one foot …. Six inches… And finally with a soft sucking sound, the 'Sue dissolved into a puddle of sticky brown goo.

"Thank you, Arwen. Thank you," panted Faramir, practically racing back to the safety of his wife's arms.

"Anytime." Arwen smiled, rather pleased to herself.

"What an interesting phenomenon," Candorien used, getting up and poking at the mess with her sword. "I had no idea that would happen. I wonder what the physics are behind it…"

"Some things it's better not to know, Candorien," advised Berenglorion, forsaking the safety of his armchair. "At least now her outsides match her insides."

"Aye, lad." Gimli, too, prodded the goop. "Now we can stop worrying.'

"I wouldn't say that."

MEKESSG had recovered from being bashed over the head with Gimli's axe without a single mark, bump, or scratch on her perfect body. She was floating a foot of f the ground, verdant emerald gown moving as if blown by some nonexistent wind. Shimmering orbs of garnet and amethyst magic hovered about her head. "You know, you children are _really_ staring to annoy me."

With a hissed word of command, she sent one of the glittering spheres pelting at the shocked group. It knocked them all to the ground. Carson leapt to her feet, sword at the ready, before anyone else could get up.

"Leave them out of this."

Laughing, MEKESSG slammed her back onto the floor with a levin-bolt. "How does it fell to be helpless again, Candy? You should have joined me when you had the chance."

"I am not helpless." The girl got up again. This time, she blocked the magical attack with her blade. It bounced off the shining steel, giving her an idea. "I am never helpless." Carson dodged about and quickly developed a feel for intercepting and reflecting the killer magic. "I always have a choice." She caught a bright bolt of sinister green light and sent it back to MEKESSG.

It struck Mary Elizabeth Katrina Ellen Sara Susana Greenhow right in the center of her overly large chest, and she burst into a thousand sparkling pink pieces. Carson turned away and lowered her head as chunks of still-burning Mary-Sue rained down upon her.

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	36. Homecoming

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with the Lord of the Rings, except a few books, some DVDs, and one poster.**

**Author's Note: Sorry it took me so ridiculously long to update - I've been busy, but that's no excuse. Been thinking about starting some new fics. If you have any ideas or suggestions for me, just drop me a line. I'd be glad to hear them.**

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For several minutes, no one moved. Frozen, they stared at the smoldering embers. Slowly, their cherry-red glow faded to a dull crimson and then went out. The silence held a few moments longer. Everyone waited on tenterhooks for the gloppy puddle-monster or the crispy Sue-critter to regenerate. When nothing happened, the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"They're gone," Legolas muttered in ecstasy, leaving the safety of his armchair.

"Eugh, Estel. What a mess. I pity your poor staff," Elladan grinned as he picked himself up off the floor.

"I rather fear they have become used to such things. Arwen, Éowyn, is everyone all right?"

The women nodded.

His voice slightly harder, Aragorn asked, "Candorien?"

Face drawn and pale, the teenager stood blinking at the ashes of her former nemesis. She looked as shocked as if a bomb had just gone off under her nose. "Huh, what?" she glanced over at the King, confused. "Oh. Yes, Aragorn?"

"You can put the sword down now."

"Oh. Yeah." Faramir's sword hit the ground with a clang. "I think I'd better sit down now." Carson followed the sword to the floor. She sat there for a minute, thinking. "Hold the phone." The girl got up, eyes blazing, and rounded on Legolas. "What in the name of Manwë did you mean by that farce of a proposal? Wait, no, don't tell me." She held up a hand for silence although, caught off guard, the elf could not respond regardless. "I get it. You did all of _that_," her voice oozed sarcasm, "in order to bring all of _this_," she gestured at the Sue-remnants, "upon us. Didn't you?" Carson finished in a low growl.

"Um," Legolas gulped, looking guilty.

"You did," she said flatly. Her anger suddenly dissipated as quickly as it had come. Turning to look at the others, Carson sighed, defeated. "How many of the rest of you were in on this?"

One by one, everyone else in the room slowly raised their hands. Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir, Éowyn, Elladan, Elrohir, even Berenglorion and Gimli.

"I should have known. So tell me, friends, how much else was for show? Do you really despise me so much? Well, now you know. EVALPIG herself confessed to what I was wrongfully accused of. And here is proof none of you can deny." The girl pointed with her foot to the remains littering the floor. "So now, after all that has occurred, will you still malign me and cast me out?" Though quiet, her voice was rough and bitter.

"That would be unjust, Candorien. I am sorry for not believing you, but you must admit your evidence was rather fantastic," Aragorn apologized gently.

"I thought ye'd just gone crazy," confessed Gimli with the barest hint of a smile.

"Crazy's not far wrong," mumbled Carson, half to herself.

"Oh, my friend, I did not want to believe it and would not have, had I not many times before seen evidence of your easily infatuated nature."

Blushing, Carson pointedly did _not_ look at Elladan. Or his brother. Éowyn spoke the painful truth.

"Before you become too angry with the well-intentioned, I would have you know the truth," broke in Faramir, gazing down at Carson with the cold gray eyes she detested.

As per usual, her insides writhed a little under his gaze. "All right, what's the truth?"

"Legolas was following my directions the entire time." Hot anger rushed up from Carson's stomach and encased her brain. She snarled. "Wait, wait, Candorien. This plan was not concocted by me, much as I would like to take credit for it."

"Who?" Carson had switched from Common to Troll.

"I think I shall let you talk to him yourself."

Nearly dancing in place with furious impatience, the girl waited for a new object of her rage to appear. Watching her closely, Faramir went to the hall door and rapped on it gently with his knuckles. "You can come in now."

Resplendent in his navy coat with the beautiful golden buttons, the man formerly known as Commodore James Norrington stepped into the room. He radiated smugness.

"You!" Half-scream, half-bellow, Carson's shout was far too loud for the small study. She charged him, roaring about traitors and sneaky, treacherous hobbitses.

Norrington took the girl firmly by the elbows and held her at arm's length. Her vehement, vitriolic rant went unheeded. The Commodore smirked as the stream of insults slowed, shook, and finally shuddered to a halt.

"You did ask me to help you get your friends back," he said calmly, setting her down. "Why get upset because my methods were" –

"Unscrupulous, underhanded, unethical, illicit, illegal, ill-bred, disingenuous, despicable, des" –

"Enough, McArthur," Norrington growled.

Candorien punched him in the jaw. The man rocked back on his heels, surprised by her forcefulness.

"All right, guys," she grinned, rubbing her knuckles ruefully. "What next?"

"I don't know about the rest of you, but bloody work always makes me hungry," Gimli announced.

"Food sounds good," agreed Berenglorion.

"A feast it is, then." Aragorn's eyes flicked quickly to Carson. "Er, Candorien, are you all right?"

The girl glanced at Norrington, debating if she wanted to hit him again or not. "I'll be okay," she said shortly with a forced smile. "Sorry… a lot to absorb, you know."

"Come with me, Candorien. Éowyn and I will get you all cleaned up for the feast," offered Arwen.

"Sure." Carson followed the two women from the room. Her eyes met Legolas's as she passed him, and he winced at the pain and betrayal in their gray depths.

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As much as Carson loved a good feast, she didn't feel much like getting into this one. With Éowyn and Arwen in charge of her hair, clothes, and makeup, she looked far more ladylike that was her norm, but a dark cloud hovered over her spirits. The girl picked disinterestedly at her food and spoke little. She felt depressed beyond words. In the back of her mind lurked the terrible thought that it was all over now. MEKESSG and her bratty sister were gone; Carson had no place in Middle-earth. And that thought was too much for her to bear.

Beside her, Norrington was having the time of his life. He ate every dish with gusto and talked tactics with the males – and Éowyn – until Arwen yawned obviously. At length he turned to his young companion. Nudging her in the arm, he whispered, "McArthur, if this is your last night, make the most of it. Don't mope."

Legolas, seated across the table from Norrington, heard this. The elf stood and left the hall, pausing only to murmur in Aragorn's ear.

"I can't," Carson hissed. "I can't, James. I can't smile and act as if it's all okay. Not tonight."

"But if you have to leave," he replied softly, "wouldn't you prefer to go out in style? Finish with a bang?"

_I am Candorien_, thought the girl. _And if I have to say goodbye tonight, I want it to be a good memory. A memory to look back on and smile about. Curse that Commodore. He's right._

Mustering her spirits, Carson jumped into the current discussion. She speared a steak and plopped it onto her plate. Munching with enthusiasm, she gesticulated wildly with her knife. Gimli scooted his chair away from her. Twirling blades were bad for beards.

"I had no idea teenage girls were that fond of meat," Char commented, slightly queasy. "Candorien, you scarf steak like a starving Southron."

"Thank you."

Aragorn chuckled. "I'm not sure that was intended as a compliment."

The girl shrugged. "Let's be positive. Our enemies are dead, your cook makes a mean steak, and I am enjoying my dinner."

"Could you perhaps enjoy it a little less violently?" asked Berenglorion. "I feel rather ill."

"Okay." Carson swallowed her last bite of steak and delicately took an apple from the platter of fruit in front of her. She sliced it neatly.

"Steak and an apple?" queried Norrington.

"I like meat, and I like fruit. Hence I eat them together. Or I would, if I could find more steak."

Elladan and Elrohir smiled innocently from their end of the table, where conveniently all the meat had suddenly gathered. Everyone laughed, even Carson. She caught Éowyn's eye. The two women looked at each other for a long moment, then Éowyn turned to whisper something in her husband's ear. Faramir gazed at the girl, his dark eyes unfathomable.

Candorien chomped on a chunk of apple. Closing her eyes to savor the taste, she missed the exasperated smiles on the others' faces.

"Norrington, do expand your cleverness," she said at last.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Tell me the story of how you cooked all this up." The girl waved at the room and their friends with her free hand.

"I spoke with Faramir."

"How?" she demanded eagerly.

"Some things are private for Sue-hunters' knowledge only, and I would be a simpleton to reveal them to someone with such dangerous Sue-tendencies as yours." Carson looked moderately abashed. "It is best for you not to know. We spoke, and Faramir has been my true friend and agent in all things.' The two men smiled at one another and nodded, congratulating themselves on a job well done.

_Were they any younger, they'd look like LARP-ing teenage boys after their first successful quest. Hmm. Now _that's_ a funny image._ Unable to stop herself, Candorien snickered quietly.

The room fell suddenly silent. Legolas was back. Somewhat tentatively, he approached the teenager. Then he got down on one knee.

"Candorien," he intoned with great solemnity as her eyes nearly popped, "would you do me the very great honor" – panic set in – "of being my" – fight or flight? Oh, no, too late now – "friend?"

Whew! Carson exhaled heavily and surreptitiously wiped the sweat off her forehead. "Legolas Thranduilion, you are lucky I don't believe in violence at the dinner table."

"Unless _she's_ the one throwing food at people," muttered Gimli under his breath.

The elf laughed, eyes bright. "But I do want you to have this." He held a slender gold ring inscribed with a few elvish characters in the palm of his hand.

"I thought you destroyed that!" Carson bellowed, leaping onto her chair, her face a mask of horror. "Aragorn! Aragorn! Legolas filched the One Ring!"

"I did not!" Legolas cried, striving to overpower Carson's voice with his own. "Aragorn, she is inventing fancies."

"He has the Ring! Aragorn, he has the Ring!"

"I do not!" The elf closed his fist tightly around the golden ring.

"Do, too!"

"Do not!"

"Do, too!"

"Not!"

"Do!"

"Not!"

"Do!"

"NOT!"

"DO!"

"Silence!" Aragorn roared. He rose from his chair and stalked over to the arguing friends. Stern and grim, the King yanked Carson off the table. "You sit down." He pushed her into the chair. 'And you, Legolas, show me that ring."

Sullenly, Legolas opened his hand and gave Aragorn the ring. The King examined it minutely, turning the golden circle over and over.

"Candorien," he said after a moment, "this is not the One Ring."

"Oh."

"So calm down and stop being such a cursed flibbertigibbet."

"Or we'll put _you_ in a gibbet," added Norrington.

"It's not the One Ring?" Carson asked, crestfallen.

"No, it is most certainly not. It is a pretty thing, though. Here, mellon." He handed the ring back to Legolas. "You were giving this to Candorien?"

"Yes," the elf replied reluctantly. "But not here. Come, Candorien." He snatched her by the wrist and pulled her from the hall.

"What on earth?" Éowyn asked, nonplussed. She was not the only one confused. "What was that about?"

Faramir and Norrington exchanged glances. "Well," Faramir said slowly, "the Commodore and I have spoken, and we think it best" –

"If Candorien goes home tonight?" Aragorn nodded, considering it.

"Probably for the best," Berenglorion said quietly. "Before more trouble happens."

"And trouble always seems to happen around her," commented Elrohir.

"Pity she can't stay."

Arwen shot her brothers a disapproving look. "Candorien _has_ to go home."

"I'll miss the lass," Gimli shook his head regretfully. "She made life interesting."

"Perish the thought that life in Minas Tirith would ever be uninteresting," grinned Éowyn.

"Well," Norrington rose, "I thank you for your hospitality, but I must be going. Time to get Car – pardon me, Candorien - home."

* * *

Carson let Legolas drag her into the hallway, but then she jerked herself free.

"What is going on?" she demanded, all hyper silliness gone. "Things get too awkward for you? Why would you give me a ring?" The girl was not at all comfortable with the idea of a present. "It isn't my birthday."

"Come on." The elf hurried down the hallway, glancing behind him to make sure she was following.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to say goodbye in here."

The girl stopped dead in her tracks. "Goodbye?"

"You're leaving tonight – didn't you know?" he asked concernedly.

"I suspected," she mumbled, "but I didn't know. Not for sure. Does everyone else know?"

"By now? Probably."

"D'Arvit." Carson started speed walking but soon accelerated to a run. She sprinted out into one of the gardens and sat down hard on a stone bench inside a small, shaded alcove. "D'Arvit, D'Arvit, D'Arvit!"

Legolas came to stand by her. "Candorien, what does it matter if everyone else knows?"

"I…. I don't like feeling ridiculous – if everyone else knows something about me that I don't, then I feel ridiculous. At least now I won't have to say goodbye to everyone. I don't think I could bear it. You know, it's a lot easier to go home when I don't know about if beforehand."

"I would think it would be harder." Legolas joined her on the bench.

"When I get home, it is harder," she admitted, "but the leaving part is easier, because I don't have any time to fret about it. It just happens."

"Ah. Well, anyway, I wanted you to have this." He placed the ring in her palm.

Carson rolled it around in her hand, then slid the ring onto her right ring finger. It fit perfectly. She admired it for a moment. "Thank you very much, Legolas. What does it say?"

"The tengwar alphabet."

"Seriously? That is awesome!"

The elf laughed. "No. It says your name and calls you 'elf-friend'."

"Even better." She hugged him impulsively, squeezing so tight she could almost hear bones crack. Legolas returned the embrace with equal force. "What if I never come back? What if this really is the end?"

"Then it is the end," he said gently. "And is that so terrible?"

"I'll never see you guys again," Carson sniffed, tears welling up in her eyes.

"But at least you saw us once. You have spoken to and walked with those or great renown – and earned no little renown yourself."

"Don't cry because it's over; be glad because it happened?"

"Exactly. We'll never forget you, you know."

"I know."

"The mere memory of you will haunt us the rest of your days."

Carson grinned and wiped away her tears. "As it should, Legolas. As it should."

"Candorien." Norrington came and stood in the doorway of the garden. "Time to go."

Kissing Legolas swiftly on the cheek, the girl got up and ran to Norrington. She took his outstretched hand and followed him down the passageway, never looking back.

* * *

**Epilogue:**

Carson teased the trap set player as they walked back to the band bus. Sunlight glinted off a slender gold ring on her right hand. Sax case in one hand, music stand in the other, she was too busy talking to pay attention to where she stepped. The girl tripped over a curb and went flying. Carson landed on her face, badly scraping her palms and knees. Wincing, she tried to get up while the rest of her jazz band tried in vain not to laugh.

"Here." A caramel hand reached down to her. "Let me help you."

**_Fin_**


End file.
